


When You Wake Up The World Will Come Around

by orphan_account



Series: Lullabye [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AAAAAAAAAAA, Fluff, Gen, I mean kind of, Kidfic, M/M, Mental Illness, Songfic, i dont even know, i think there's a name for this type of thing but idk wjat, its complicated, its not anything super extreme, just for the cuteness, sort of, this was meant to be like a one shot i hate myseld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why 'Lullabye' was written. Pete knows he acts like a five year old sometimes, but Patrick takes it to a whole different level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Wake Up The World Will Come Around

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear. I wrote this in one day when I was ill, on my phone. I didn't realise it got so long, it was literally meant to be a oneshot. Im so predictable. Patrick has more secrets and everyone is gay leave me to die. Also I don't know how to link fics but I'm not gonna lie, this is largely inspired by drucilla's 'the littlest emo' in which Pete gets temporarily turned into a kid. I wasn't going to post this but like, why not. kudos/comments/corrections always appreciated :)  
>  **EDIT: I made a tumblr for taking requests saverockandsoulpvnk & i'll try and write p much anything peterick especially in one of the verses I've already written :D ** (Hoping to write short a series of oneshots set throughout FOB's career in this verse, but i need a little inspiration)

Pete knocked on Patrick's door, wincing at the volume considering it was now at least three AM. He would be wincing at even waking Patrick up at all, but if he stayed in bed he was going to go so far inside himself he wouldn't come out.  
He heard a scuffle, a pause and then a tinny, "Go away, Pete."

  
 "Patrick, I'm sorry, but I can't sleep at all and I'm-"  
"Pete, it's the middle of the night. Go to sleep, we'll talk in the morning." Pete thought there might be something wrong with Patrick's door, because a lot of the time, when Patrick was being shady and probably musical and holing himself up in there, his voice sounded almost too fuzzy and distant to be coming from inside.

  
And normally, Patrick let Pete in at these kind of times when Pete really needed him; he got it. So on the rare occasions when he didn't let Pete in, out of respect for all the times he did, out of knowledge that he wouldn't not let Pete in unless there was a good reason, Pete normally sloped back off to his room and played quiet video games all night.  
  
But tonight he felt shitty and angry and a little mean, and he didn't care what Patrick was doing, because he was hurting and he needed his Patrick, so he barged in.  
As he fought the doorknob, he heard a little squeak and another scuffle, and then it opened to reveal a Patrickless room.

  
Pete snorted. If Patrick thought he could hide in the en suite, then Pete felt insulted. He was about to go in there and explain that, as he wasn't five, he was pretty certain he could understand that people didn't just disappear into thin air, when he noticed a little lump in Patrick's bed. It was way too small to be a Patrick but, judging by the rise and fall of the sheets over it, wasn't a pile of clothes. Pete decided that if Patrick had just got a new puppy he would be prepared to forgive the bathroom hiding, then pulled the duvet back gently to reveal its occupant.  
  
It wasn't a puppy: It was a tiny child with a mop of fluffy blonde hair, face down on the mattress, looking like it was pretending to be asleep but given away by its quivering. Pete's mind ran through possible scenarios that could explain this tiny creature in Patrick's bed, and found none.  "Uh, hey, kid... What are you- why are you, um, in Patrick's.... wh-"  
  
At this moment the minuscule human, quivering so much it was practically a blur, rolled over slowly and sat up, fixing Pete with terrified blue eyes. Pete's brain blew a fuse, giving up completely on possible scenarios. Patrick blinked owlishly at him, with sweet blue eyes he'd recognise anywhere.

  
"Don't be mad?" Small Patrick said softly, bottom lip quivering dangerously.  
Pete was very still, staring with his mouth open and his brain spinning but not really getting anywhere. " _Patrick?_ " He gaped dumbly.  
"'M _sorry_!" Small Patrick cried and doubled the lip quivering.  
"It's not... It's not your fault...?" Pete responded, sounding like he wasn't sure. Suddenly, Pete was sitting on the bed and a very tiny Patrick was in his lap, clinging to him and bawling.  
  
Pete sighed. His prospects of getting any information as to what the _fuck_ was actually going on looked slim. While his brain was somewhere else, possibly having finally quit for good after everything Pete put it through, his arms instinctively wrapped around Patrick.

Pete pulled him in, petting his hair as he snuffled into Pete's neck; Pete was luckily brain-free and so he didn't think about how gross it was to have a snotty little kid wiping his nose on him. Little Patrick slowly regained his composure and peeled himself off Pete, looking up at him very seriously.

  
Pete shuffled him so he was sat more comfortably on Pete's knee, and ruffled his hair fondly with a shaking hand. "So, little buddy, D'you wanna, like, tell me what's. y'know. _Up_?"  
  
Small Patrick frowned at Pete when he was called little, which made Pete laugh despite everything, but thankfully didn't start crying again. With remarkable maturity, he shrugged. "It's complirated. Go to sleep, I promise I'll explain you when I'm more bigger." And he did his funny little blink again, making Pete swear that Patrick's eyes hadn't shrunk when the rest of him apparently had.  
  
"Will you be, uh, _more bigger_ soon?" Pete enquired tentatively.  
"Oh yeah," Patrick nodded. "I was small all this afternoon." He smiled shyly at Pete, peering out from under his arm with a tinge of pride in his voice.  
But Patrick had answered the door in a normal voice about five minutes ago. "But I just heard you answer the-"

  
He was cut off by small Patrick squirming out of his lap, going to scrabble on the nightstand, coming back with a phone that looked enormous in his tiny hands and a smug expression, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he unlocked the phone and pressed something, and shoving it a little roughly in Pete's face.

Once his eyes adjusted, Pete could make out the voice recording screen, with a whole library of recordings titled things like: ' _go away pete_ ' and ' _who is it_ ' and various excused designed to deflect someone from entering. He scrolled down out of curiosity and noticed two things: there were no curse words in any of them, despite the bigger Patrick's tendency to get pretty explicit when he got pissed off, and there was one titled 'for pete incase' right at the bottom.  
  
"What's that one?" he asked, smiling to himself at Patrick's care not to swear in front of children, even himself.  
The kid looked startled and pushed the phone up in his own face to read, "F... o... for. P- Pete. I-N-C... uh...A...se: incase. Oh yeah! Forgot about that one, here!"  
  
Beaming, he pressed play and passed it to Pete, who put it to his ear to hear better. The first thing he heard was a very familiar nervous chuckle, and almost cried with relief at Patrick's voice.  
  
" _So uh, hehe, Pete... I guess I have some explaining to do? See, I can't even really give you much of an explanation. Just... one time when I was, like, seven, my mom comes to check on me and finds that I'm fine... except I'm, like, noticeably younger. Once she knew, she could see times where it's happened before, but it wasn't really noticeable enough to think about until there was enough of an age difference._

_"In case you were curious, we worked out from old photos that I'm- he's..." another nervous chuckle, "uh, I'm not used to referring to the whole thing at all, and it's kind of awkward pronoun wise- uh, the kid me is five. I can't exactly go to the doctor to get it checked out._

_"I've always been like it, since I wasn't actually five, and I really don't know why. I haven't really got an explanation to give you there, I'm sorry... but- it kind of sucks that I can't be seeing your reaction as I say this so I know what to say, but then also if we were face to face I think I would've happily never told you... which kind of isn't fair, I guess._

_"I knew that, I just couldn't make myself say anything.... I'm sorry. But I don't mind it - I don't think there's anything wrong with it either. It's really nice sometimes to just be a kid again, and I'm sure it's probably good for my brain as well, to process stuff and shit, or whatever. Anyway, I get it's... Pretty weird so if you want to basically just forget about it and leave, I'm all right with that._

_"See, it's hard like this 'cause I can't answer questions and stuff... I guess the me who's actually there could but. Might not be super helpful. If you... want to talk about stuff when I'm back, uh. That's okay. I'm... thanks, Pete. Try not to scar h-_ me _for life._ "

  
Apparently that was the end. Feeling a little hurt that Patrick thought he would want to just forget about it and ignore everything, he leant over and placed the phone back. Tiny Patrick looked at him with sleepy, hopeful eyes, and then couldn't hold back a yawn.  
  
Pete closed his eyes and smiled to himself for a moment, then picked up little Patrick by the sides and swung him off Pete's lap, into sitting position where he should be in the bed. "C'mon, someone's had a rough night," He coaxed, "It's sleepy time now."

  
Small Patrick did _not_ like this idea. He'd seemed so docile and sweet earlier, but was instantly transformed into a wild animal, bucking like mad and kicking for all he was worth, biting his lip adorably to keep from yelling. He was heartbreakingly aware even in his rage of the need to keep himself a secret, hitting Pete with tiny hands complete with sharp little nails.  
  
Pete sat still, watching Patrick with crossed arms, until he tired himself out and stopped. He yawned again and blinked reproachfully at Pete.  
  
"Why don't you want to sleep? You must be pretty tired, I know _I_ am. Come on, lil man, it's night-night time for Patricks."  
Patrick chewed his lip and looked at Pete with wide eyes. Pete sighed, stroking his hair. "What's up, Tricky?"  
  
Patrick continued to chew his lip silently before he blurted loudly, "If I go to sleep then in the morning, I'll be big and then you'll ignore _me_ again and I don't have any friends - not when I'm a kid - and it was nice to have one cause no one talks to me so I was happy that you came but if I go to sleep then you'll _go_ again."

He looked up at Pete with his eyes brimming with tears and Pete really didn't want Patrick to cry again so he wrapped him up in a hug, murmuring into his hair, " _Oh_ , Patrick... It's okay now. I won't leave, I promise. Want me to sleep in here?"  
Patrick snuffled, nodding into Pete's chest, and Pete thought for the first time what it must be like for the tinier version of Patrick, all alone.

Having to hide himself away and on top of that, having no one to talk to or reassure him or _feed_ him or do anything that kids needed done for them. Just his own pre-prepared measures to look after himself. Pete felt a little sick at the thought of his Patrick being so _lost_.  
  
  
He settled into the other side of the bed and wrapped Patrick, now limp with exhaustion, in his arms. The size was unfamiliar in his arms but the snuffle-breathing and immense warmth and comforting Patrick-smell were all the same.

Pete reached to turn out the light on Patrick's side and when he lay back, little Patrick beamed shyly at him and planted a kiss on his cheek before shifting back into his arms. "Love you, Petey." He was almost inaudible as he busily burrowed into Pete's chest to get comfy.  
"Yeah, I love you too, little guy," Pete mumbled sincerely.

  
***

  
  
When Pete woke up, he was moments away from falling off the bed. It was technically a double, but it had to be the smallest double bed ever, especially considering Pete was used to having a kingsize to himself.

It probably didn't help that one of the occupants had at least doubled in size during the night. He was wearing a slightly too-small shirt and Pete guessed he must have changed into it at some point when he was still small, to prevent ruining the pyjamas he had been wearing due to sudden growth spurts.

Pete couldn't lie about how relieved he felt to see the Patrick he was used to back; not that the other one wasn't _adorable_ , but he was glad to have solid evidence that _his_ one wasn't going to disappear for good.

  
He watched his friend sleeping for a few moments, in the same position he'd gone to sleep in, snuffling in exactly the same way, and then Pete poked him hard in the side.  
Patrick jolted awake and blinked confusedly at Pete for a minute before he frowned like he was remembering the night before. He went pink, emotions chasing across his face easily readable as Pete watched.

  
"Morning, Pete," he mumbled, sleepily apprehensive, and then rolled back over. Decidedly _not_  having any of that, Pete grabbed Patrick and turned him back over to face him. Patrick struggled away and tried to bury his face in his pillow.  
"Nuh-uh, we're _talking_ about this," Pete said firmly.  
Patrick whined and sat up. "I don't want to! You just had a really weird dream, go back to your room."  
  
Pete growled at him. " _Patrick_." He thought suddenly that there was remarkably little difference between dealing with a five year old Patrick and a nineteen year old one.  
Patrick looked aggressively past Pete at the floor. " _Fine_ , talk."  
  
Pete gaped at him but decided not to push it. After a pause he started slowly, "Okay, so like, how often does it happen?"  
  
Delicately and yet incredibly passive-aggressive, Patrick shrugged. "Once a week, maybe?"  
Startled, Pete sat up a little more. "That often?" He wasn't sure, but for some reason he'd thought it would be something like twice a year, on the solstices or something ritual-y like that - maybe that Patrick was a were-toddler. The thought made him snigger.  
  
Patrick nodded stiffly, making Pete ache to wrap him up in a hug and keep him safe and happy.  
"Can you... can you _control_ it? Like, when it is?"  
  
"It's like... It's like when you need a pee," he began carefully, wincing at the analogy, "Like, from when you start needing it, you have a window of control where you don't just immediately pee on the floor, but you can't just completely ignore it."  
  
That explained somewhat how Patrick had managed to hide it for so long. Pete couldn't believe that he'd known Patrick nearly four years and never suspected anything, that Patrick hadn't told him. He thought back to the voice recording: Patrick had wanted to but he'd been too shy, probably hadn't wanted to ruin things with his best friend, worried how he'd react...

  
Finally, Pete asked the question he really cared about. "Do you- does anyone... Is there someone who looks after you? Or at least someone you can call or whatever, in emergencies?" He asked gently.  
  
Patrick bit his lip, meeting Pete's eyes for the first time since he'd woken up. He shook his head.  
  
"Patrick! That's... You can't just _leave_ -"  
  
Patrick shuffled uncomfortably. "I mean, my mom _used_ to... when I moved out last year, there wasn't really any way I could..."  
  
Scrubbing at his hair in frustration, Pete groaned loudly. " _Fuck_ , Patrick!  You should've _told_ me - you could've..." He trailed off and then started again with vicious conviction. "I _hate_ thinking about you doing that, all by yourself with no one to-" At some point, Patrick had dragged his gaze from the floor and was looking wide-eyed at Pete.

The expression perfectly matched the one he'd worn last night, when Pete had promised not to leave, and it made Pete stop, swallow, shift closer, and say in a softer tone, "You told me... You said you didn't have any friends- you must've been so _lonely_."  
  
"I visit my mom _all the time_! It's like a dream come true for a mother; she spoils me," Patrick protested.  
Pete frowned at him. "What about when we're on the road?" he pointed out, "D'you just wait for hotel nights and then hide under the bed, or something?"

  
Patrick looked guilty.  
"I can't fucking _believe_ you, 'Trick, why didn't you fucking tell me? You can't just like- you should have, like, constant supervision and uh... I dunno: socialising, nurturing and shit! Not to mention like... what do you even _eat_? Jesus, you're so..." he moaned, not bothering to complete his sentence.  
  
By this stage, at some point between starting the conversation and now, an idea had formed in Pete's head. Hopefully, Patrick could take a hint, because he wasn't sure how to just bring it up.  
So far, Patrick had proved withdrawn and oblivious so Pete gathered himself, scrubbed another hand through his hair and then gulped a breath of air.  
  
"Listen, Rick. I could- I don't mind... Let me...?" The sentence died away, partly because Pete wasn't sure exactly what he was even offering, partly because Patrick was staring at him with bright pink cheeks and an expression he was fighting to keep unreadable.  
  
He frowned thoughtfully. When he did speak, it wasn't the denial of any issue that Pete expected, or perhaps the hesitant promise to call if there was a serious problem, it was: "I'm not going to call you _daddy_."

He was trying to keep his voice level and casual, joking, but Pete could see a bright hope in his eyes. He looked so grateful Pete wanted to hug him and tell him it was the _least_ he deserved.  
  
Pete gave a choked, spluttering laugh and threw his head back; Patrick regarded him cautiously and decided after a beat to offer a slow, relieved grin.  
  
"That's, um," Pete stuttered, once he'd recovered somewhat, "That's, _huh_ , okay with me."  
  
Patrick beamed at him.  
  
***  
  
 "Okay so, this is my stuff," Patrick explained, hauling a huge opaque box out of the closet from where it was shoved at the very back and buried under clothes. He yanked the lid off. "Right, um, this is my cl-" He was interrupted by Pete, watching him struggle with the huge box, blurting, "You get that all out by yourself? When you're... _small_?"  
  
Blushing, Patrick nodded and pulled another opaque box out of the larger one; he really went to a lot of effort to keep all this stuff hidden. "Anyway, these are my clothes..." There were probably five different outfits, plus a big puffy coat, a pale blue onesie-thing, slippers, rain boots, canvas shoes and some smart leather ones, plus quite a few pairs of pyjamas.

Pete forgot to reply, lost in thought, so when Patrick looked at him questioningly, he said the first thing that came to his mind which was, "Are these yours from when you were a kid- like when you _originally_ were?" He added awkwardly.  
  
"Yeah, some of it," Patrick replied thoughtfully, "It's hard to remember, I guess. Like uh..." He rummaged and came up with a little tuxedo that melted Pete's heart, "I wore this to a wedding when I was like six, but I got this-" he rummaged again, coming up with a fluffy, comfy looking hoodie, and blushed, "Well, I got this one last week... I have a lot more stuff at my mom's; there isn't a lot of space here, so it's like, essentials and then when I visit mom, I swap the stuff around, like I cycle it. And she washes it there, cause I would have a lot of explaining if I got caught washing kid's clothes here..."  
  
His face, having only just recovered its original pale colour, went pink again when he saw Pete holding a pair of blue mittens and looking at them curiously. "It's like... You know when you see kids at the toy-store or whatever, and their parents buy them, like a dollar toy car and they  just get like, ridiculously happy? Like remember stuff you'd go crazy about as a kid, but you couldn't have it and you'd look at adults who easily had the money and you couldn't wait to grow up, and now you look at it and it's kind of sad 'cause now you _could_ just go buy yourself it now but it doesn't seem half as exciting?"

  
Pete nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.  
"See, I can just... buy that thing and  like, have it when I'm..."  
"Small." Grinning, Pete finished for him.

  
Patrick looked up in surprise, then nodded. "Sure, when I'm small. I dunno how to explain it... But for like, three dollars, I can give myself the same happiness in the long run as I would get from like a thousand dollar amp. And," he added smugly, "There's no one to stop me. Like I think I'm responsible enough, I don't go and buy a whole candy store and eat it all in a day or whatever, but if my mom knew all the stuff I buy she probably wouldn't be super happy."  
  
Pete smiled to himself, deciding it was going to be time for a shopping trip as soon as Patrick was done explaining his stuff. He watched Patrick fold all the clothes carefully and reclose the box. Pete picked a small, nondescript bag next.  
  
"What's this one?" he enquired, passing it to Patrick.  
The zip caught when Patrick opened it, and it took the two of them about five minutes to fix it. "Washing stuff," Patrick explained conversationally, as they did it.

Eventually, it burst open and he handed it back to Pete to examine the contents. Laughing when he saw Patrick's ghostbusters toothbrush seemed to be the wrong thing to do, because Patrick scowled at him. "Hey, chill out, Stump," he laughed, "Where can I get one?"

  
Patrick relaxed but watched him suspiciously as he went through the rest of the bag: a gentle on skin kids' shampoo/body wash bottle, a tube of baby teeth toothpaste, a body sponge shaped like a fish, one of those hairbrushes with a glass handle that had ducks floating inside, a flannel, sensitive skin face wash, no rashes baby wipes.

Watched by Patrick with a scarily open expression on his face, Pete suddenly understood how much it must take for Patrick to show him  all this and met his eyes to give him a serious look that he hoped said, _'I understand. Thank you for letting me'_.  
  
The rest of the container was taken up with one large box that Patrick took out reverently and set on the floor. "Toys," he muttered shyly. Pete ripped the lid off. Different to the careful, watching curiosity he'd displayed with the last container, Patrick shuffled back and didn't meet Pete's eyes, red and staring at the floor. Noticing his discomfort, Pete carefully put the lid back, rubbing Patrick's shoulder tenderly when he didn't look up.  
"It's okay. We can get those out when you need them," he reassured.

  
Patrick relaxed, nodding. "Okay. Well, uh, I think that's it. There's colouring books and pens in there too, and movies. And I... well, you might've assumed this anyway, but in case you weren't sure: No swearing, no talking about sex or violence and that kind of thing and... I get scared really easily," he smiled sadly, making Pete think of the terrified little kid hiding under the duvet last night, and then of him getting like that in the night, all alone, "So no scary stories or anything on TV, like, not even a _little_ bit, and if in doubt don't - especially not if I beg you, 'cause I'm _full_  of bullshit and I'll totally regret it later. Also, no felt tips or paints or sharpies or anything, cause I got those before and it was _such_ a mess..."

  
He gave Pete an unreadable look that made him shiver, but he thought it was something good.

  
  
***

  
  
Nearly two weeks later, Pete got a phone call. Pete wondered what Patrick wanted and why he didn't just come to the next room and ask him, but it was six AM and no one in the house usually got up before about midday on the weekends, except maybe Andy, to go on a run or attend secret vegan meetings to plot the overthrow of the planet.  
"Yeah, Trick?" He'd actually slept that night, but something had woken him up about five.

  
"Petey!" yelled a delighted voice on the other end. Pete's eyes widened, and then he broke into a nervous grin.  
"Oh, um- hey there, little dude! I'm just coming, 'kay?"  
"Okey _dokey_!" Patrick singsonged.

  
Pete rolled out of bed, tried to pat his hair down the best he could, pulled on a shirt and made a mental note to ask Patrick if no shirts was allowed, and grabbed the plastic bag from his closet that had been in there for nearly two weeks, waiting.  
  
He snuck quietly down the hallway so he didn't wake anyone up, and when he got outside Patrick's door, maybe to make up for barging in last time, he knocked and called out Patrick's name quietly. The doorknob turned and then opened a crack and Pete wanted to melt at the sight of the little figure in the doorway that grinned fuzzily and pulled him inside.

His hair looked even messier than Pete's probably did, and he could only just reach the doorknob, which explained why he never locked his door - he couldn't actually reach the lock.

Once Pete was inside the room, tiny Patrick tackled him in a hug, squealing. Pete hoisted him up and held Patrick on his hip with one hand as he locked the door. When he was done, he turned, staggering a little under the weight.

Patrick pressed a sloppy kiss to Pete's cheek and giggled, burying his face in Pete's shoulder. "I didn't wake you up, did I?" His solemn little voice was muffled by Pete's shirt.  
"You didn't," Pete assured him, feeling ridiculously lucky, "But it would be okay if you did."  
  
"I tried to wait, in case, but I got really bored." He wiggled, so Pete put him down. Freed, he bounded over to where his set of teenage mutant ninja turtle action figures were assembled in various states of battle, and lay down on the floor.  
Rafael figure in hand, Patrick gestured wildly at Pete. "They're not as fun without you," he explained.

  
"Wait- I did you a picture!" Patrick remembered. Had he been a cartoon, his expression would've been accompanied by a lightbulb over his head; he got up and dashed across the room where he struggled to climb onto the bed, which was about the same height as him. He eyed it with trepidation and eventually made it to the summit with a lot of determined clinging.

On the bed, he retrieved his picture from the comforter and ran along the length of the bed, proudly waving it at Pete. He came to a stop in front of him and pushed the picture too close for Pete to actually focus on it it, so he took it out of Patrick's hand to look at it properly.

  
Stupidly, Pete felt tears in his eyes. It was a picture of two people that he assumed were him and tiny Patrick, holding hands with an enormous sun in the corner.  
Hurt, tiny Patrick sat down abruptly on the bed. His lip quivered. "Sorry, Petey."  
  
That startled Pete out of his reverie enough for him to snuffle and wipe his eyes and give Patrick an adoring smile. "Nononono, I _love_ it! Sometimes, when people are really _really_ happy, it makes them cry."  
  
Patrick narrowed his eyes at Pete but decided to believe him and pull him down onto the bed. He sat next to Patrick, smiling tearily at him, and the little kid climbed into his lap and hugged him tightly. "Did you miss me?" Patrick asked hopefully, in a small voice.

  
Pete felt overwhelmed with some strong emotion, he didn't even know what, just a tide of general emotion - had done since small Patrick showed him the picture.  
Remembering that he was supposed to be the adult, and it didn't really help if he just sat around being weepy, Pete scrubbed his eyes furiously and nodded, not trusting his voice.  
  
"I missed _you_ ," Patrick said, sounding happier. He planted another one of his loud kisses on Pete's cheek and giggled manically into his shirt.  
Pete gave him an answering kiss on the head and told him, "You're pretty cuddly today, huh?"

  
Matter-of-factly, Patrick shook his head. "I'm _always_ cuddly. Or I am when I'm small. 'Speshly since I don't get a lot of hugs."  
Pete's chest felt tight and he pulled Patrick closer. "You do now, 'Tricky. You're gonna be _so_ sick of cuddles by the time I'm done with you."  
  
Patrick let out a screechy-laugh that little kids did when they got overexcited, and jumped off the bed. " _Never_!" He yelled.  
  
A little nervous about waking anyone up and attracting attention, Pete suggested that they go to the park.  
Patrick gasped in excitement. "I haven't been to the park since I stopped living with mommy!"

Which made sense, seeing as he could hardly get to the park all by himself and once he was there people might ask questions about him being all alone.  
"We need to get dressed first, though."  
"Okayokayokay!" Jumping up and down, he hurried to the closet, once again barely able to reach the handle, and disappeared inside it, grunts of exertion floating out as he tried to drag out his box.

  
Pete followed him over and stooped down to see inside. "Hey, let me get that?"  
Patrick wriggled out and looked at Pete like he was a war hero that had saved thousands of people with his wiles, bravery and strength. En route to the closet, Pete ruffled Patrick's hair.

  
He watched in amazement as Pete retrieved his box with minimal effort. It was already open - Patrick had been in it earlier to get some toys and not bothered to close it.  
"I'm not very strong," he sighed.  
"Hey, that's not true!" Pete protested, "Maybe I'm just a super-strong superhero with ten times the strength of a man!"  
  
Patrick cocked an eyebrow at him, a strange expression on his little face. Pete giggled.  
"I'm five, not _stupid_ ," Patrick growled witheringly.  
"All right, all right, _sorry_ ," Pete tried to hide his smile, holding his hands up in surrender.  
  
"Well, your heart is strong?" Pete tried as he rummaged in the box, coming to a sudden stop. " _Shit_!"  
  
Patrick's head snapped up.  
"That's _naughty_!" He cried, scandalised. "I told you not to say that! You get smacked, but only big people can smack, and you can't smack yourself..." He looked thoughtful, trying to solve the smacking conundrum. " _Say sorry_." He ordered with a threatening expression.  
Trying not to laugh, Pete ducked his head. "Fu-" He started instinctively to protest, and then realised that more swearing was really not the way to go. Little Patrick already knew what he was going to say, though, judging by the furious glare he was giving Pete with glittering eyes, and the little huff.  
  
Pete considered asking Patrick, either now or when he was bigger, what the big deal was with swearing at all, but he kind of knew: it was important for kid Patrick to be, well, _a kid_. That was how he did it, and it wouldn't really be appropriate for him to be swearing like a sailor. Also, presumably, he'd always been raised not to swear, so - especially judging by his reaction - it made him uncomfortable.

  
"I'm sorry," he conceded, mostly sincere. When he inclined his head, though, he remembered what had caused the whole incident in the first place. Neatly folded in the bottom of the box, a row of clean underwear. Patrick hadn't said anything about it, but he didn't need to talk to Patrick to know there was no way he way doing that. While Pete was staring, horrified, Patrick had happily put together his own outfit and was holding it happily up to Pete, little blue boxers on top.  
"You'll help me, right? 'Cause normally I do it myself but it's hard and a lot I do it wrong or I take ages..." he stopped, looking nervously at Pete, who'd managed to calm himself down. Patrick could do it himself, he told himself, it's okay.

  
"Yeah, um," he chewed his lip, "Can you, uh, change your underwear yourself? And I'll go in my room and change mine, and you can ring me when you're done? And I'll do all the rest," he promised.  
Patrick looked at him with his enormous eyes. "Why?"  
Pete swallowed. "See, uh, little buddy... I'm not your mommy or daddy. It's not really... it's not appropriate."  
"Not 'proprut," Patrick repeated, appeased. Pete wasn't sure he actually knew what the word meant, but he headed off into the en suite with his clothes, so it looked like he'd at least gotten the idea.  
  
Pete slipped out and went back to his room to change out of his pyjamas, was just pulling on a clean shirt when his phone started ringing. "Coming, Ricky!" he called into it.  
  
Pete swallowed, walking down the hallway. He'd always felt super awkward with kids, and they had a tendency to say weird stuff, and they made him feel inadequate, especially if their parents had told them some kind of oversimplified version of his bipolar and they'd said something to him like "Why are you sad all the time?" Which a lot of kids said to him, especially when he was low. Even without that, he never knew what to say to them, he felt boring and awkward, so he felt amazingly proud of how he'd handled himself around little Patrick, although it was probably majorly due to it being _Patrick_ , so realistically it could never be awkward between the two of them.  
  
He'd been worried that things would be weird - he couldn't work out what was between him and Patrick but it felt like it might've made things weird - but when he'd seen that tiny, innocent grin, he couldn't imagine feeling anything other than immense waves of protectiveness and adoration. But what had seemed earlier like a tiny, cute-as-fuck, enthusiastic and free with his affection version of his Patrick, a gift in return for god-knows-what; now seemed like another, more innocent, more impressionable, more helpless and more trusting Patrick for him to unwittingly fuck up even more than he already had and was doing to the bigger one.

He felt sick. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving Patrick alone, but the though of ruining him was almost worse.  
How did this happen? He'd felt so good this morning. He didn't even try to stop himself from sinking to the floor in front of Patrick's door, lying face down in the carpet.  
  
He didn't know how long he was there, but he heard his phone ringing multiple times in his room before the door creaked open. He heard a tiny sigh, and then some shuffling, then the warm weight of a body lying next to him.  
" _Fuck off_ , Patrick," He croaked despairingly, "You don't need me to fuck you up even more. Look, I can't even not say the bad words for you."  
He turned his face back into the floor, but it was short lived because  the next second Patrick pinched him, hard. He yelped, but didn't speak, attempting to remain his morbid composure.

  
"Only big people can smack," Patrick hissed, still wearing just his underpants, which were basically shorts and had rocket ships on them, "But I can pinch you all day."  
Pete ignored him.  
He felt Patrick wriggling closer into his side, until he felt lips at his ear. "I'm little, but I'm still your Patrick. I know what you're doing, Petey."  
  
Pete continued to ignore him, and the softening of his own heart. He was _doing_ this for Patrick. He felt Patrick pinch him again and muttered, "Fuck!" at the pain, which triggered another pinch until Pete wasn't sure if he was being punished for beating himself up or for swearing.

  
They sat in silence for a moment, Patrick breathing heavily at Pete's side, then Patrick placed his most affectionate kiss yet, right in the middle of Pete's cheek. "You're _not_ bad, Pete," He said earnestly, punctuating it with another kiss and a squirm into his side.

  
"Yes I _am_!" Pete rolled over to look at Patrick with red-rimmed eyes. He probably looked crazy, probably he was scaring Patrick. Good.  
Patrick had tears brimming in his eyes, and his lip was wobbling.  
"I say bad words. I scare you and make you cry by being a waste of space. I tried to _kill myself_ , I bet _that_ made you feel good! I'm mean, I only care about myself. You don't even _need_ me, my lyrics are shitty and my bass playing is worse and you're- you're the golden ticket... I just convinced you that you need me so I can free load off your success. Some days I don't get out of bed at all. I'm making you stay out here, where you could get seen and then you'd be fucked. I still date high schoolers, are you sure you even trust me around you?" he added viciously. "There is nothing good about me."  
  
He rolled back over, fiercely ignoring Patrick's sniffling. Patrick pinched him hard, not letting go as he spoke. "Turn over," he growled, and Pete did but the pinching didn't stop. He pressed his little face right up into Pete's. "You are _good_." He spat at him. "You are a _good person_. You're my _best friend_. You look after me - and not just when I'm little. I don't tell you when I'm big but I wouldn't be able to live without you. But you do even more when I'm small, and you don't have to and I tried to convince you not to but you didn't listen and now you're wasting your whole day on me even though you feel... _like this_. And you liked my picture and I never get to show my pictures to anyone, and you don't think I'm silly and you hug me and you let me give you wet kisses and make me feel safe and you carry big boxes for me and you try really hard not to swear because I asked you not to and when you do it you feel really sorry and you play with me and you care about me and put up with me and right now, you're trying to take yourself away because you think you're bad for me, which is silly because only a _good person_ would do that, Petey."  
  
He finally relinquished his pinching hand, which he'd held in place for so long Pete had gone numb and only noticed the sensation by the sudden lack of it. Pete didn't know when he'd started crying, but he was and he felt sick because Patrick was stroking his hair and having to be the grown up one even though he was _five_. But at least half of him wanted desperately to believe that Patrick was right, and it was stubbornly fighting the other less-than-half.  
  
"I hate it when five year olds are smarter than me," he groaned finally, feeling Patrick sigh and smile into his chest.  
"Can we go back inside now?" Patrick enah ores shyly, in a tear stained voice.  
Pete chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, c'mon then, big man," he huffed, stumbling to his feet and pulling Patrick with him.  
He stretched up and yawned and when his hand returned to his side it was seized by Patrick's immediately and crushed pretty tightly for a five year old hand.

  
"Love you, Petey," he said viciously.  
"I love you too, Rick," Pete replied quietly.  
"I know. And my mommy calls me Rick."  
Pete couldn't tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing so he observed that, "I'm basically your mommy now," laughing softly.  
Patrick screamed. " _Nooooooo!_ " He ducked inside his room, giggling playfully as he slammed the door in Pete's face. Pete leant against the wall for a moment, and he felt okay. Not great, but he was okay. He _really_ loved baby Patrick.  
  
Doing his best impression of Patrick's mom, Pete knocked imperiously on the door. "Young man, open your door right now!"  
He could hear Patrick giggling and squealing on the other side, could only hope that no one else did. The door showed no sign of relenting so Pete played his ace. "If you don't open your door, how are you meant to get to the park?"

  
A moment later, the door opened and Patrick came dashing through, apparently determined to escape to the park in his boxer shorts. Laughing, Pete scooped him up. "Yeah right. C'mere, let's get you dressed."  
Patrick regarded him seriously, debating whether to make another break for it. "You'll do it though, right?"  
Pete nodded, and Patrick relented and let Pete carry him back into the room and sit him down on the bed next to the discarded pile of clothes.

  
"I can't guarantee I'll be any better than you... I'm not used to dressing other people." He picked up the pair of jeans Patrick had selected. They were heartmeltingly tiny, Pete thought about stealing a pair to make some kind of art exhibit out of, as an excuse to hang them on his wall, because they were the kind of thing that was just so small and cute you were automatically 10% happier when you looked at them.  
  
"Okay, open your legs," he instructed once they were ready in his hand, and then automatically snickered. It was a _reflex._  
"That's a pinch," Patrick chided and gave him the tiniest, most painful pinch ever.  
Pete got the jeans on up to Patrick's thighs and then had to lift him up by the belt loops to get them up to the top, while Patrick wiggled gleefully into them.  
"Will you carry me to the park?" he begged.  
"Patrick-"  
"But I never get carries," Patrick pouted, and Pete huffed out an 'if you're good' and put Patrick back on the bed.  
"Arms up!"  
Happily obeying, Patrick watched Pete wonderingly right up to the moment his head disappeared behind his shirt, resuming once it reappeared, as Pete fastened his shoes and helped him jump off the bed.  
He lost the expression quickly, though, as Pete decided on one glance out of the window, that Patrick needed his coat and mittens.  
"I don't _want_ to!" he shouted, and Pete really hoped Andy and Joe were deep sleepers.  
"C'mon, Ricky, please?" Pete begged, advancing with the coat.  
"No!" Patrick yelled, slapping the clothes out of Pete's hands. Reluctant to shout at hi'm, Pete frowned.    
  
"Patrick, sit down," he ordered firmly, hating the fear in Patrick's eyes as he did so.  
Once he was sat, Pete continued, "All right, settle down. You know you can't do screaming and shouting when you're here, that's why we're going to the park. But if you don't put your coat on-"  
"You'll leave?" Patrick guessed, lip quivering. He scooted forward and clung desperately to Pete's leg.  
Pete's eyes widened, "Patrick, _no_ , of course not! I won't leave, not _ever_ , Tricky-trickster. I'll make you _wish_ I'd leave!" he added, wiggling his fingers evilly. Patrick screamed and dived for cover in Pete's leg before he covered his mouth. "I'm sorry, I'll be quiet," he apologised, letting Pete help him into his coat.  
  
"You're a good boy, Rickster." Patrick puffed his chest out proudly and nodded. "Yeah. I'm not as good as you though." He looked at Pete shyly through his bangs and Pete melted right into the floor. Through his liquefaction, he noticed that little Patrick and big Patrick had different haircuts (luckily, because imagine a five year old with the fledgling sideburns Patrick was currently rocking). "Hey, Patty, who cuts your hair?"

  
Patrick rolled his eyes. "My mom," he answered sullenly.  
 While he was distracted with the pain of being a five year old whose mom still cut his hair, Pete slipped both his tiny mittens on.  
When he was done, Patrick looked at Pete with evilly glinting eyes. "Carry!" He instructed, as boisterous as he could be while carefully controlling the volume of his voice.

 

  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
En route to the playpark, Pete realised it was nearly noon, and they stopped at the emptiest café he could find for brunch, and Pete had told Patrick how proud he was of how good he'd been for him all day, and Patrick had beamed.

At the park, Pete sat on the wall with the crowd of mainly moms, but a few dads and bored siblings, watching Patrick contentedly dashing around the park, introducing himself enthusiastically to every child he met, having serious five year old conversations with all of his new friends. He was interested in the slides and such, but from Pete's perspective he looked a lot more interested in talking to other kids.

Pete had been chatting idly to someone next to him who was ambiguous enough that she could've been a mom or a bored older sibling, when Patrick came skidding up and launched himself into Pete's lap.  
"Petey, Petey!" He started breathlessly.  
"Having fun, Trickster?" Pete asked, fingers combing idly through Patrick's hair.  
He felt Patrick wiggle in his lap and assumed he was engaging in some pretty enthusiastic nodding. "I met s- Oh, hey, Lady!" He panted, realising he'd interrupted a conversation, not that Pete minded.  
"Hey, lil guy!" She cooed, "Is this your daddy?"  
  
Pete tried not to snigger, remembering big Patrick's earlier comment - Pete did try to look younger than he was and even at twenty-four didn't seem old enough to be Patrick's dad, but the world was a weird place and if you saw a guy with a kid, your first bet would be that he's the father. Patrick twisted around and looked at Pete with panic in his eyes. Chuckling, Pete petted his hair reassuringly. "He's my boyfriend's kid brother," Pete explained calmly to the lady. It was the closest thing to the truth, "His name's Patrick."  
  
Confusion shaken off, Patrick beamed at her, "Hello!"  
" _Awww_!" She exclaimed to Pete. "I'm Jane," she grinned at Patrick.  
"Hi, Jane!" Patrick said happily. He probably hadn't talked to this  many people when he was small since he was small all the time.

Pete had worried that someone would recognise them, but he only rarely got recognised in Chicago, the only place people really knew him: this far out in the suburbs it was unlikely and anyway, no one was going to figure out about Patrick in a million years, especially when Pete still mostly got recognised because of Arma and Racetraitor, not usually Fall Out Boy, so even if he was recognised it would only be him and not Patrick, which he would happily risk in exchange for Patrick's pink cheeked exertion.  
  
  
"We better be heading back soon, it's getting dark and I'm _freezing,_ so go say goodbye to everyone, yeah? We'll come back soon," He added at Patrick's puppy eyes.  
As Patrick skipped away, the lady grinned. "He's sweet."  
Pete smiled fondly. "Yeah. He looks just like my boyfriend, it's scary sometimes, honestly.  Full of beans, though - I've been babysitting him all day. His family are... at a funeral but they left him with me, 'cause he's a bit young and he'd cause trouble and probably get upset."

  
The lady nodded understandingly, just as Patrick reappeared, still beaming. He hopped up onto the little wall beside Pete and slipped his mitten-clad hand into Pete's. "Let's go!" He declared.  
He gave the lady a toothy grin and she gave him a friendly look and Pete let Patrick drag him away.  
  
"Did you want to kiss that lady?" He chirped.  
Spluttering, Pete quickly recovered. "Thought we weren't allowed to talk about that?"  
"No," Patrick explained exasperatedly, "You're not allowed to talk about... _S-E-X_ ," he dropped his voice in case someone was listening that would get him in trouble for saying the word, which made Pete laugh.  
"What do you think, Pattycakes? I told her I had a boyfriend."  
Patrick looked pleased about something best known to himself and skipped the rest of the way home, dragging Pete along by the hand.

  
***  
  
  
When they got into their neighbourhood, Pete got a little worried about being recognised. "Patrick, pull your hood up, okay?"  
The hood came up without complaint and made Patrick look even smaller under it.  
"Okay, wait here, and I'll check no one's about and come get you, okay?" Pete instructed once they got to their shared house. Only when Patrick nodded did Pete realise he was trembling. "Cold or scared?"

  
Patrick grinned, a chattering flash of tiny white teeth, "Both."  
He leant into Pete's touch when Pete ruffled his hair, and his trembling reduced marginally.  
  
Pete reappeared five minutes later. "We gotta be fast, okay? And sneaky."  
"Like ninjas!" Patrick stage whispered excitedly.  
"Like ninjas," Pete agreed solemnly, deciding it would be faster if he carried Patrick. Swinging him into the air, Pete charged up the stairs as fast as he could and didn't stop until he practically fell into Patrick's room and locked the door.  
Amongst Patrick's near-silent laughing fit, Pete heard a yell from Joe's room. "Pete? You alright dude?"  
"Yeah, sorry!" He shouted back.  
  
"Are you in Patrick's room?"  
  
"Yeah, sorry!" He yelled again, determined to get his money's worth out of the phrase he'd been employing for most of his life.  
  
"Petey?" Patrick enquired.  
"Mm?" Pete answered absently.  
"I need a pee."  
Pete turned to look at him. "Tricky, you know what we said about stuff not being appropr-"  
Growling in frustration, Patrick shook his head. "No, _dummy_ , get my steps out the closet!"  
Pete could understand that Patrick was tired out from some five hours at the park, and tired kids quickly turned to rude kids, but that was out of order. " _Hey_ , that's not a nice way to ask," he warned, half-expecting Patrick to kick off but he just apologised meekly and added a 'please'.  
  
Pete got the steps for him, once again watched by Patrick with a wondering expression, and set them down next to the toilet, ruffling Patrick's hair as he left. He could hear, from his place in the bedroom, playing idly with his phone, Patrick singing some nursery rhyme, and clattering loudly on the steps.  
  
He was glancing absently around Patrick's room, at discarded toys and the left-out box (he felt guilty at that: someone could've just walked in and found it. He should've put it away.) when his eyes settled on the plastic bag he'd brought earlier and gotten distracted by the whole lying facedown in the floor shenanigans, and he went and got it. When Patrick returned, still singing quietly and struggling with his top button, Pete was waiting on the bed with the bag.  
Patrick finally did up the button and propelled himself into Pete's lap, no longer singing. He eyed the bag suspiciously. "What's that." It wasn't inflected like a question.  
  
"I... got you some stuff," Pete began nervously, relaxing as the suspicious glare directed at the bag turned to dancing amazement, directed at Pete.  
" _Presents_?" He ventured, "But Christmas isn't-"  
Pete flashed a cheeky smile. "Well, first I got you this-" He handed Patrick an advent calendar, a painstakingly chosen one with Star Wars stuff on it: he knew exactly what big Patrick liked, but he didn't really know if little Patrick was the same, but he'd had a Ghostbusters toothbrush and, unable to find a Ghostbusters calendar, Pete had figured that Star Wars was the same kind of thing and anyway, _everyone_ liked Star Wars, "Which makes it good timing that you were small today, 'cause it's-"  
"The first of December!" Patrick interrupted, unable to contain himself past not immediately snatching out of Pete's hand when he was handed it. " _Oh_ ," he said, suddenly crestfallen. He shifted around and stared at Pete with big, worried baby blues.  
  
Pete felt sick to his core. He'd done it wrong again, he'd fucked up, done something really thoughtless and selfish, Patrick _big and small_ hated him... he felt himself spiralling exactly where he'd been that morning on the floor.

  
"I won't be around to open it much," Little Patrick whispered, watching Pete with guarded worry; the emotions on Pete's face must be easily readable, he'd gotten away from himself so quickly, forgotten Patrick was even there.  
"What?" He stammered, coming back to himself, calming himself down. _It's okay, it's okay._ "You don't have to be small to open an advent calendar!"  
  
Tiny Patrick narrowed his eyes at Pete, disbelieving.  
Pete threw his hands up. "Honest! Look, I got one too!" He paused, rummaging in the bag for his own. Since he'd moved out, he'd bought himself one every year - in fact, he'd originally been buying one for himself when he'd thought of someone else who might like one, dropped the average dollar store one he'd been about to buy, and tracked down two ridiculously overpriced Star Wars calendars without hesitation.  
With an 'aha!' he pulled it out and opened the first door while Patrick watched. "See?"  
  
Done carefully watching Pete prove that, despite all odds, non-small people could in fact open advent calendars, he turned to his own and searched for the number one, face screwing up in concentration.  
"Peeeeeteyyyy," he whined, "Peteyyy, I can't find it!"  
  
"Huh?" Pete looked over absently, pointed out the first flap. Patrick held it right up to his face and squinted at the number. "Is that a one?" he asked Pete doubtfully.  
"What, yeah- Patrick? How old where you when you got your glasses?"  
Patrick hummed, squirming. "Dunno. Thirteen?"  
Pete nodded thoughtfully, making a mental note to discuss it with Patrick once he was bigger.  
Patrick searched his face and then nodded trustingly.  
  
"Oh, hey! I got you this too, one sec..." Pete remembered. The bag, almost empty, didn't require much digging. "Here." Pete tried not to fidget when he handed Patrick the shoddily wrapped little box.  
Eagerly, Patrick tore off the wrapping and then stared blankly at it for a tense moment. He leaned up and whispered in Pete's ear, "I can't read it."  
Pete couldn't resist kissing his temple, but then he frowned at him. "You _really_ need glass-"  
Deciding for his own reasons to continue whispering in Pete's ear, Patrick defended himself irritably. "I can _see_ the letters. I'm not a good _reader_."  
  
Pete shrugged. " _Try_?"  
Patrick squinted at the box. "Nuh. Ih..." Every letter he read correctly earned soft words of congratulation from Pete, alternating with encouraging sounds and a steadying hand on his back when he floundered, "Guh!" He seemed particularly proud of this one, but when Pete tried to think back to his own days of trying to learn to read, he couldn't remember if he'd found some letters harder than others, so he just huffed a soft laugh and let Patrick continue: "Huh... and Tuh!"  
He paused, twisted around to stare at Pete in confusion, then leaned forward and frowned. He twisted again. "Is that right?" he checked, bewildered.

  
Pete nodded and smiled warmly; Patrick put his head in his hands. "I don't get it!" His voice rose to a despairing wail. "I'm too stupid for this, Petey." He attempted a phonetical pronunciation of the word. "N...nih-guh-tuh?" He said uncertainly.

 

Pete laughed, breathing out over his hair. "You're not _stupid_!" The protest was partly because he believed it more than anything else in the world, after the incident in the morning, partly because Patrick's voice was rising worryingly and Joe had already heard him running about.  
"Ih-guh-huh-tuh means 'ite'," he explained patiently, "You didn't _know_ that, though. Doesn't make you stupid, Rickster."  
"N...ight?" He said doubtfully.  
"He- Heck, yeah! See, you got it first try once you knew! Smartest boy in the world!" Pete beamed and Patrick answered it with his own.  
  
He started to spell out the next word and then looked at Pete with his mouth in a little 'O'.  
"IknowIknowIknow!!! This one is 'light' isn't it!"  
Pete squeezed him tight for a breath and then released him. "Yup! See, _not_ stupid. Let's, uh, let's keep our voices down though, all right, Stumpski?"

  
Patrick nodded quickly, laughing an open-mouthed giggle when Pete called him 'Stumpski' which wasn't quite how big Patrick normally reacted to Pete's weird names.  Pete definitely preferred this about his tiny friend.  
"Sorry!" he whispered exaggeratedly, then turned back to Pete in confusion. " _Night light?_ "  
"Yeah," Pete nudged him, "Open it."  
Patrick did, and when he picked it up, the movement activated it. He squealed and Pete decided to give up on the volume control and considered adopting a pet pig so he'd have something other than the thing he wasn't allowed to talk about in front of baby Patrick to blame it on. "It's an egg!" he squeaked excitedly. "That _glows_!"  
  
"See, uh, I hear someone gets a little scared sometimes, and, like, so do I... And I used to have one of these, too. So I thought you might like it, 'cause it's harder to be scared when you have ' _an egg! that glows_!' so I thought you-"  
  
Still clutching his ' _egg! that glows_!' as it was forever known in Pete's head, Patrick dived into Pete's chest and babbled into his shirt.  
"Love you, squirt," Pete laughed.  
He felt Patrick tense and it took him a second to realise that he was yawning. A glance at his phone revealed that it wasn't even six o'clock, but he had no idea what time five year olds were meant to go to bed, and it had probably been a much more tiring day than Patrick was used to.  
  
"Somebody's tired," he teased, poking gently at the little boy who was currently clinging at him and shaking his head determinedly.  
"Yes you are," he argued against Patrick's unintelligible mumble.  
Patrick clung tighter, giggling to himself in rebellion.

  
"Hey now, don't be tricky, 'Tricky," Pete smirked, carefully pulling Patrick off him enough to have a conversation. "What time do you normally go to bed?"  
Patrick shrugged stubbornly. "Anytime I want."  
Pete rolled his eyes and poked Patrick teasingly, but his eyes blazed with warning, desperate for  his first proper day looking after Tiny Patrick not to end badly. "Fine, what time do you go to bed when you're at your mom's?"  
Patrick eyed Pete carefully through his bangs. "Eight thirty?" he mumbled.  
  
"Not lying? Cause lying is bad and if I can't swear you can't lie, plus I can just google what time five year olds go to bed, and it will probably be pretty conservative - that means like, on the safe side - and go by that."  
  
Patrick shook his head. "Not lying!" he shouted stubbornly into Pete's chest.  
"Oh yeah?" Pete said, slowly retrieving his phone; it was a blatant bluff but he'd been told by the most reliable of sources that little Patrick was a bullshitter but also a huge wimp. He didn't even have to unlock it before Patrick was tugging at his shirt and crying, "No! I'm sorry, Petey! It's seven thirty, don't _gooooo_!" And after constant reassurance, Pete was starting to suspect that the whole ' _don't leave me_ ' shtick was at least 50% manipulation.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere, you know that. But _you_ are going to bed fifteen minutes earlier."  
From Patrick's howl, you'd think Pete had just been murdered in front of him or something. Pete smirked, remembering how much fifteen minutes had felt to him as a kid.  
"Yeah, and if you're a di- jerk about it, it'll be half an hour," he said, trying not to be harsh but determined not to let Patrick walk all over him, especially on the first day where he could get ideas that would be permanent. Not giving him a chance to protest he asked a little more kindly, "Do you want tea, or a bath or anything?  
  
Patrick nodded, impending tantrum forgotten, and explained to Pete his routine. "Okay, so normally at mommy's, I go in the bath, and then I go eat dinner and then I have milk in bed and a story. Here I have audiobooks cause I'm a really bad reader, but I might have a few books cause normally when mommy packs my box, she gives me books cause she says I should read more oftener. I never do though," he giggled, then stopped and apparently decided to be professional, "Um... And I have a fridge that is small, like me, with milk cartons in it, but the milk from the big fridge is more yummier."

  
Admittedly, Pete hadn't devoted a lot of time to wondering what Patrick kept in the mini fridge that was always on in his room, but he hadn't expected it to be a bunch of one use cartons of long life milk. Emerging from his daze, he realised Patrick was staring at him hopefully. "Oh, right, yeah, sure, I can get you a glass of milk at bedtime."  
"Warm?" Patrick hedged, barely daring to believe his luck when Pete nodded.  
"Love you, Petey!" He said again.  
Pete kissed his hair. "Cupboard love."

  
***  
  
  
Patrick informed Pete that he'd just experienced the best bath of his life: Pete had helped him down to his boxer shorts that were more shorts than boxer, then he'd skipped off to the bathroom, poured half a jar of bubbles in and not allowed Pete in the room until he was settled into the bath, then proceeded to lie back with his eyes closed and practically purr shamelessly when Pete washed his hair for him, wriggling happily at the strong fingers in his hair, and the calloused hand over his eyes when Pete poured the cup filled with clean water from the tap over Patrick's head and mumbled, "Eyes shut, Trickster," Blinking against Pete's hand impatiently by the fifth cupful, but not - for once - coming away with stinging eyes, still-soapy hair, or both, and he told Pete so.  
  
Pete hummed tunelessly to himself when Patrick told him it was his turn to close his eyes, holding his arms wide with the towel in them, doing his best to help Patrick out of the bathtub without opening his eyes, with Patrick muttering about how "'naproprut" it would be.

Eventually they managed with Patrick standing up in the bath, Pete wrapping the towel roughly around him without looking, then letting Patrick hold the towel himself, opening his eyes and lifting towel-clad Patrick deftly out the bathtub.  
As he was prone to doing when lifted into the air, Patrick squeaked. Pete set him down and he dissolved into giggles. "That was very 'proprut," he informed Pete seriously, teeth chattering but not caring too much about the coldwet like some kids did.  
  
Pete choked on a laugh. "'Proprut _is_ my middle name."  
Patrick stared at him like he was an idiot. "No it's not, it's Lewis. Kingston. You have two! But neither of them are 'proprut," he said mournfully.  
"Awww," Pete whined mock-sadly, "I could've _sworn_..."  
"No! You're not allowed to curse!"  
Pete sighed. "Woah there, Mr Literal."  
  
Patrick giggled evilly, having caught on at some point, and Pete steeled himself. "Nope, I'm Mr Stump!" he almost yelled, gleefully darting out of Pete's grasp, but Pete grabbed another towel off the hook and used it to gently towel off Patrick's bare arms and legs, finally wrapping it around his dripping hair and scrubbing vigorously, which Patrick loved and giggled - delightedly and just a little too loudly - the whole time.

  
Once his hair was less saturated, Pete fetched the clean pair of underpants he'd left on the windowsill, handing them to Patrick and turning his back.  
"Thankyou, Peter Proprut," Patrick cackled.  
Pete tutted at him insincerely and asked permission to turn around.  
"Hmmm, Petey, I just don't know if such a thing would be _proprut_! Maybe you should just stay there forever, in case?"  
  
"You little _punk_ , it's cold milk if you're not done in _ten seconds_ ," Pete said, tone light.  
He winced when, predictably, Patrick screeched and came running into his arms shouting, "I'm proprut, I'm _proprut!_ "  
  
Pete shushed him and hoisted him up, where he wrapped his arms around Pete's neck and clung just the right side of asphyxiating. "Tired," he admitted softly, yawning into Pete's neck, and wow, little Patrick really loved burying his face in Pete's torso. It was pretty endearing, especially when he planted a delicate peck in the same spot and murmured something sleepily inaudible.

  
Pete lumbered to the bed and tried to plop Patrick down on it but he clung tight to Pete's neck and nearly strangled him. Pete sighed and manoeuvred so he was sat next to Patrick, free of his organic neck brace, but Patrick immediately clambered back into his lap and wound himself all around Pete before he could do anything. Pete thought he heard a little ' _hehe_ '.  
  
Pete rolled his eyes but toyed idly with Patrick's hair, feeling him relax. "Are you listening, Rickster?"  
Patrick nodded slowly against Pete's chest.  
"Okay. Listen, you gotta eat something or you'll be really hungry in the night- no don't shake your head, okay, you need to - You've been really good all day, so we can order takeaway, or I can try and cook you some pasta or something?"  
  
Patrick pulled back, yawned, and looked thoughtful. "Pasta, please."  
He immediately dived back into the warmth of Pete's chest.  
"Okay, squirt, you need to let go now. I'll go make you something, but it will take me about five minutes, will you be okay that long?"

  
Patrick started to shake his head but something changed his mind and he nodded reluctantly. Pete smiled proudly at him.  
"Can I play on your phone?" He asked meekly and normally, Pete would say no to a kid that wanted his phone but firstly, since the thing with Jeanae had ended, he'd kept his phone pretty PG and secondly, he had possibly never said no to Patrick in his life, so he handed it over.  
  
"Be good, okay? I won't be long, and I'll, uh knock five times, so don't let anyone in unless they do that. Wait, can you count to five?"  
Patrick folded his arms and looked at him patronisingly. "Uh, _yeah_. I can count to five-tee!"    
  
Pete wasn't sure if the pronunciation was deliberate for emphasis but it was fucking adorable either way. "Have you got your voice recordings?" Pete paused when he saw the phone wasn't plugged into the speaker that he presumed Patrick used for his little voice recording deception, and plugged it in, stretching the cord to lay next to Patrick. "Oh, shi- um, if you've got my phone you can't call me. I'll be five minutes okay, and if you really need me, you can call the home phone right?"  
  
Patrick nodded.  
"Okay. Five minutes. Be good, all right, lil buddy?"  
Patrick nodded. Pete drew back his bangs and pecked him lovingly on the forehead.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Pete was just pouring the plain pasta and tomato sauce into a dish when Joe floated past him in a strong smelling haze. "Hey, Peterpan the saucepan man," he cackled, "There's some kid crying in Patrick's room? Anyway, Trohman _out_." He floated off.  
Pete nearly dropped the pasta. "Shit!" he said out loud, guiltily relieved at being able to swear.  
  
Pasta in hand, Pete sprinted down the hallway and knocked frantically five times, then said, "Patrick? It's Pete?" anyway. He got some answering snuffles that might've been 'come in' and barged in, charging to where he left Patrick on the bed.  
 Pete didn't see him at first, but the loud snuffling was a bit of a dead giveaway so he eventually noticed him, curled up in a little ball in the centre of the bed, sobbing loudly: not just gentle whimpering but actually crying his eyes out, shaking the whole bed.  
  
"Oh, patty-pumpkin, I'm so sorry! ImSorry itsmyfault whathappened?" He thrust the pasta down on a table and climbed onto the bed next to Patrick, who started sobbing even louder and, worst of all, didn't make one move to climb all over Pete. "Trickytrickytricky, what's wrong?" Pete begged, tentatively touching his hair.

He didn't move. "Aww, buddy, come here," Pete crooned, lifting Patrick's prone little form up carefully from where he'd plastered himself to the bed and settling him in Pete's lap. He didn't say anything, just instinctively wound himself around Pete like a vine and continued weeping. A little lost, Pete just stroked his hair, hoping he would start to relax soon.  
  
"What happened, Ricky?" Pete begged again.  
"I was- I was," Patrick choked out through tears, "I was on y-your phone...  and I wanted to see at the music, because," he hiccuped, "I like music?"  
"You sure do, squirt," Pete assured him softly, to which Patrick looked up and gave him a tear soaked smile and then clung back to him even tighter than before.

  
After a few more sobs wracked his body, Patrick continued: "Mm, and-and so I clicked a s-song... but it was really loud and a man started- s-scr-screaming at me..."  
He broke off into coughing and little choking sounds and Pete, helpless, tapped his back gently and held him tightly until he recovered and scrabbled at little at Pete's chest for room to breathe. "'nd I got really scared, so I _screamed_ \- I was trying to be quiet Petey I was trying I didn't _mean_ to!"  
  
Pete kissed his ear tenderly. "I _know_ you didn't, it's okay. I know."  
"Uh- and, and Joe came, so then I got really scared and so took the earphones out but I could still hear it through them cause it was really loud and I couldn't turn it off, see, cause I got too scared and I forgot the password, and now Joe will tell everyone and they might laugh at me or give me to a scientist!"  
  
Pete's leg had gone numb so he shifted Patrick to the other knee and pulled him back in, trying not to laugh when he wrapped his legs around Pete's waist and latched his arms around Pete's neck.  
He rubbed a circle on Patrick's back like he remembered his mom doing to him, and wished he'd brought some water.

"No one's giving you to any scientist," he promised, "I wouldn't let anyone have you. It's okay, though, because Joe was really fu- really _really_ high. He probably doesn't even know his own name."

He felt Patrick's breathing slow and hoped the pasta would still be warm for them, thinking he was settling down, when he felt Patrick convulsing against his chest and after a minute, realised he was gagging.  
" _Tricky_?"  
  
"'Nna be _sick_ ," cand the answer in a small, miserable voice.  
" _Shit_!" Pete cursed, swinging Patrick onto his hip as he stood up and _almost_ laughing when Patrick screwed his eyes up at Pete and pinched him viciously, but Patrick was back to gagging again and judging by the way he was coughing, he'd already spat up some bile.  
  
Pete managed to get Patrick down over the toilet seat just in time for him to make a sickening little noise and then spit up what was surely his entire digestive system.  
Pete held his hair back and petted  
his back and he gagged about three times and then threw up another digestive system full, impossibly, gagged a few more times and sat back on his heels, blinking pitifully at Pete. He had sick dribbling out the corner of his mouth and down his chin, and it took Pete some serious effort to hold his own stomach in.  
  
The wash bag was already out from Patrick's bath and Pete could just reach to grab it. He yanked out a clump of wipes and dabbed carefully at Patrick's jaw.    
Patrick sat still and stared at him, his eyes and face red with tears. Pete's heart ached for him as he kissed him between his eyes.  
  
"Was that a tummy-bug sick or just scared sick?"  
"Scared sick," Patrick mumbled hoarsely, with downcast eyes.  
Pete cupped his chin. "Hey, scared sick is a-okay. It just means it doesn't usually last as long and I don't need to get you any medicine."  
Patrick bit his lip and nodded. "I'm hungry," he said, even though he'd literally just ralphed his guts out. Pete shook his head in disbelief. _Kids._  
  
"Still want your pasta?"  
Patrick nodded eagerly and let Pete help him to his feet.  
"Normally, I'd make you eat it in here, cause it's easier to clean up if you spill, so this isn't a long term thing okay? But, uh-"  
"It doesn't smell so good in here at the moment."  
"Yeah." Pete scratched the back of his neck and flushed the toilet, trying not to look, then he opened a window and when he got back to the bedroom Patrick had already located the pasta and clambered onto the bed, apparently while still holding the pasta, and was sitting cross legged next to it and looking expectantly at Pete.  
"Will you feed it me?" he pleaded mildly, blinking his long gold eyelashes at Pete. "I can _too_ feed myself!" He stuck his tongue out at Pete's look, "But I don't want to. Want you to do it, pretty please?"  
  
Pete sighed and hopped up next to Patrick, who of course tried to crowd into his lap. "Tricky, sweet, I can't feed you if you're on my knee. So either you sit there and do it yourself or you stay still and I'll do it?"  
  
Patrick stared at him and yawned impossibly large for his small frame. "You do it."  
He sat politely with his mouth open when Pete put the spoon in, chewed with his mouth closed, didn't complain when Pete accidentally dribbled sauce down his chin, just wiped it off and licked  it from his finger when he thought Pete wasn't watching, ate the whole bowl without complaint and didn't even try and spit food at Pete. It was altogether a much calmer experience than what Pete had had before, feeding a miscellaneous child that could be his cousin or his nephew or his fucking grandkid, at family gatherings.  
  
When Patrick stretched up and saw that the bowl was empty, he said very politely, "May I get into my pyjamas now please?"  
And Pete wanted to punch himself in the face because he'd gotten caught up and forgotten that Patrick was still in just his underwear, not to mention probably freezing.  
"Crap, I'm sorry!" he went to Patrick's box but Patrick shook his head, hopping off the bed with a thump and appearing beside Pete with a shirt in his hand that he'd gotten off the floor somewhere.  
  
"Nuh uh, I gotta wear this, otherwise when I go back it will cut off my legs!"  
He eyed the comfy pyjamas wistfully and then shook his head and held the shirt out to Pete, putting his hands up over his head before Pete even asked. Then before Pete could blink, he'd put his head through the shirt, scampered back across to his bed and dived under the covers, blinking expectantly at Pete.  
"Milk," he whispered when Pete didn't move.  
"Oh- will you be okay, though, while I heat it up and stuff, or do you just want it from the mini fridge?"  
Patrick looked deeply considerate and then politely decided he'd prefer warm, if Pete pleased, and he'd try and be okay this time.  
  
He was, when Pete returned five minutes later with a mug of lukewarm milk, fine, if a little restless and squirmy. "Here," Pete smiled at him, and he took it and promptly stuck his face in the mug and came up with an impressive milk moustache which he managed to half lick away.  
"Story?" he asked shyly when he re-emerged from his milk coma.  
"Sure thing, Stumpers... Where would I find a book?"  
Patrick shrugged. "Bottom of the clothes box."  
"Does, uh, 'Happy Little Duck' sound okay?"  
Patrick shrugged. "Anything's okay if you read it to me," he suggested quietly.  
  
When Pete finished the story, Patrick seemed to be asleep but when Pete pushed his bangs aside and gave him a sweet peck on the forehead,  he grabbed Pete's sleeve before he could straighten up.

"Stay?" Patrick pleaded in a tiny voice, not that he needed to plead for Pete to do anything he said.  
"Of course," he mumbled and slipped out of his uncomfortable jeans and into the bed, grinning when Tiny Patrick, even half asleep, crowded into his space, more or less on top of him,  and started mumbling happy things in his ear. Pete turned on his side so Patrick's weight on him was more like spooning and less like being buried alive, and lovingly shushed Patrick, telling him to get some sleep, and he did.  
  
  
***  
  
  
At some point in the night, Pete woke up and felt a larger body beside his, and opened his eyes to check. Patrick, surprisingly, was awake and blinked at him blearily. "Thank you, Petey," he said, too softly for Pete to tell if his use of his name for Pete was self-parody or serious or both.  
"I love you too," Pete mumbled, only semi conscious, and pressed a kiss somewhere between Patrick's shoulder and his forehead, unsure in the dark, then wrapped his arms back around him. "Sleep proprutely," he jibed, and went back to sleep.  
  
  
***  
  
"My mom wants you to come over."  
Patrick mumbled, sitting on the couch in the shared living room.  
Pete was curled up, half sitting, half lying down, pressed against his side and splayed across his lap; a mOvid was playing on the TV that Pete was watching avidly but he was almost certain Patrick was paying a maximum of fifty percent of his attention to it.  
"What?" he grunted distractedly though a mouthful of hair, blinked himself awake and rolled around in Patrick's lap to face him, fighting the urge to tell him how pretty he looked from that angle.  
  
"My mom. She wants you to come over."  
"She _always_ wants me to come over. It's like a longstanding offer. I don't get why you're bringing it up now. I was planning to-"  
"No," Patrick interrupted before a sexual joke could arise, tugging Pete's hair gently, "Like... _next time_. I was going to go to hers anyway, but. She wanted you to come, and she's, like, pretty insistent? She said she wants to check out the guy who she thinks has 'basically adopted her son'... yeah I know, she's met you loads before, but she wants to, I don't know, vet you in this context?"  
  
Pete sat up. "Wait - she _knows_? That _I_ know?"  
"Yeah, I told her..." Patrick informed the floor guiltily. He glanced at the ceiling, then brought himself to look at Pete.

"See, I'm meant to call her so she knows I'm okay, so usually I ring her in the morning and then I check in at night, 'cause, uh, I can't sleep unless someone says goodnight," he blushed, "Um, and then she knows I didn't stick my finger in a plug socket or something- anyway," He continued, ignoring Pete's terrified look and silent promise to buy some of those child protector plug socket cover things as soon as he got the chance, "Like, last time I got... distracted, and I didn't call her, so she rang me last night, 'cause it had been... I dunno, more than two weeks, and I hadn't called which, I mean she'd be on my ass for that anyway without my _thing_ on top of that. So she called me all like, _'what the hell are you okay_?' 'cause, like, going back to the pee analogy, if you don't pee for three weeks there's probably something wrong with you, know? And, I know I should've checked with you. But I'm pretty sure she planned to catch me right when I was going to bed and I was too tired to lie, not that I can lie to my mom anyway-" With a harrowed expression that looked like he'd tried before and failed miserably, he looked at Pete pleadingly. "I'm sorry, don't be mad?"  
  
Pete wiggled an arm around Patrick's neck and nestled his face into the curve of his shoulder. Looking up at Patrick from his perch, he sighed, "Patrick. Pattycakes. Lunchbox. Why do you always think I'm gonna be mad? Especially about things that aren't even your fault, that I'd have no right to blame you for, and things that aren't even bad, that I'd have no right to get mad about?"  
  
Patrick petted his hair absently. "So you'll come? I don't know when specifically it will be, I mean..." he wrinkled his nose and looked thoughtful, as Pete looked up at him with amused adoration. "I dunno? Three days maybe? I don't usually know for sure until the day of... I guess I'll let you know, it'll be a bit last minute." He shrugged.  
  
"D'you have a car seat?"  
Patrick frowned in confusion. "What? ...Oh! Oh, no, I usually, um, drive myself down and wait 'til I'm at mom's," he explained once he realised.  
"Okay, back to the pee analogy, but isn't it hard to drive when you really need to pee? Isn't it hard to concentrate and stuff?" Pete asked, not completely sure what he was hinting at, but Patrick gave him a small smile of agreement.

"Yeah, so d'you want me to drive, at least?"  
Gratefully, Patrick nodded. "I'm growing to hate the pee analogy, but you know when you get close to the bathroom and then you really need to pee? As soon as I get in the car, my reflex or whatever decides that I'm nearly there, even though it's like a half hour drive." He grimaced and even shuffled closer and put his head on top of Pete's.  
  
"Do your brother and sister know?"  
Pete felt Patrick's head shaking. "By the time it was really noticeable, they were moving out, or close to it. But mom was always really careful anyway, like in case it got out, not that she didn't trust them but stuff happens sometimes she just didn't want to risk it. My dad doesn't even know, we always arranged it so I wasn't at his house on those days. She's always been really paranoid about people knowing. That's why she wants to... make sure you're okay I guess. She knows I trust you, though. Don't worry about it."  
  
***  
  
It was four days later, not three, and when Patrick knocked on Pete's door, asking if he was ready to go, his eyes were glazed and his legs were shaking.  
Taking one look at him, Pete marched him down the stairs and bundled him into the car, doing up his seatbelt and kissing him on the head which he didn't do often when Patrick was big, but he couldn't contain his worry.  
Patrick looked up at him and blinked owlishly, not saying anything possibly because he physically couldn't.  
  
They got about ten minutes on the way before Pete, lost in his thoughts and the road, realised the small voice he could hear to the left wasn't a buzzing in his ears but, "Petey, _Petey_. Petey! PETEY!"  
He grunted, struggling out of his driving trance. Tiny Patrick was tugging on his sleeve looking frantic and terrified and way too small for his clothes.  
  
"Shit," he groaned, swerving dangerously when Patrick pinched him. Luckily, they were in the suburbs so there was a gas station pretty much immediately. Pete pulled over, undid his seatbelt and turned to Patrick. "Ok, Ricky, I was naughty but you can't pinch when I'm driving, yeah? It's really bad, okay, it's dangerous," he scolded seriously.  
  
Raising his eyes slowly, Patrick gave him a sincere apology, sniffing back tears. When he lifted up his hand to wipe his eyes, the sleeves of his sweater flopped over his hands and Pete tried not to laugh at him. "It's okay, just don't do it again, yeah? C'mere," he added, shuffling closer to Patrick so he could roll up his sleeves for him. "Did you bring your clothes for your mommy to wash? You might have to wear some of that for a bit, until we get you to mommy's."  
With his newly freed fists, Patrick wiped his eyes, nodding. He struggled back and reached for his backpack on the floor, tugging it up with some considerable effort and thrusting it at Pete.  
  
"Hey! We don't throw things, Lunchbox, we pass them nicely."  
Small Patrick grimaced in a kind of 'aw, shucks, there I go again' way. "'M sorry, Petey, my clothes are in there," he said meekly.  
Pete ruffled his hair affectionately and hefted the bag into his arms.

"All right, I'm gonna go in the store and see if they have a car seat, because it's kind of naughty to have a kid in the car without one and I could get told off. D'you wanna stay here or-" Pete let out an accidental snort when he saw Patrick, pants hanging ridiculously over his little legs, swinging his feet and watching the motion of the loose material, transfixed.

 

When he saw Pete looking, he looked up and giggled, leaning forward and slapping his leg like he did when he was big and found something absolutely hilarious, little Patrick's clumsy interpretation looking precociously adorable. Pete snickered at him and he looked back at Pete, delighted to have made him laugh, which made Pete shake his head, smiling.

  
He saw Patrick eyeing up his lap like he was preparing to climb into it, and seized the opportunity to get out while he wasn't bound in Patrick's clinging arms for all eternity. "Look, Tricky, much as I'm enjoying your company, I need to get you a car seat, so you can come in or you can stay here, but if you stay here you've gotta be good - you can't press anything or try and get out or anything, yeah? And if you come in, there might be a bathroom or something so we can get you changed."  
  
Patiently waiting for Pete to finish, Patrick grabbed his hand and said, without even having to think about it, "With you, with you!"  
  
Grinning, Pete slipped out the door and reappeared on Patrick's side just as he started looking upset. Pete undid Patrick's seatbelt for him when Patrick's aggressive poking at it did nothing to free him, and then, when Patrick swivelled around to get out, grabbed his legs and messily started to roll up one of the pant legs. After a second of pouting, small Patrick forgot his disappointment at the sight of a Petey, ripe for the climbing crouched in front of him. He wasn't even wearing shoes; they must've just fallen off at some point, and he tried to throw himself onto Pete.  
"Wait one second, goddamn," Pete grouched with a face full of Patrick, putting him back on the seat while he rolled up the other pant leg - looking up in surprise when he finished and still hadn't been pinched.  
  
"It's okay, I'm not driving so you can pinch me. I deserve it," He allowed solemnly.  
Positively evil little grin on his face, Patrick administered possibly his most painful pinch yet and Pete whined. He cackled and clumsily scrubbed at Pete's hair, either an attempt at affection or, more likely from his devious expression, he remembered how long Pete usually spent on his hair and decided a pinch wasn't enough of a punishment.

Pete stuck his tongue out at him, which Patrick tried to reciprocate but just ended up dissolving into giggles when Pete scooped him up and then nearly unbalanced when he stood up fully.  
Patrick took the opportunity of being close to Pete's face to plant a trail of kisses from the above his ear to the top of his nose, counting each one out loud until he got to seven. "Okay," He nodded proudly, "That's one for each day I missed."  
  
Pete laughed at him and flicked his nose gently, but had to drop his hand immediately to support Patrick's weight. "Heavy," he grumbled.  
Patrick's eyes went wide. " _Petey_! I been opening my advent calendar," he said the last two words slowly and carefully so he didn't slip up, "like you said, every single day- _aw, no!_ Petey, I didn't get it today what do I do, I'm sleeping at Mommy's!"  
Pete looked thoughtful. "I won't tell Santa if you don't? You can just," he dropped his voice to a stage whisper, "eat _two_ tomorrow?"  
  
Scandalised, Patrick gasped loudly and put his little hands to his mouth.  
 "Did you been opening yours, Petey?" His upturned face was earnest and he broke into a peaceful smile when Pete nodded.  
"That's good," he told him solemnly and then, in a fit of shyness when they entered the busy store, buried his face in Pete's neck and Pete obligingly pretended he didn't notice him peeking out every three seconds.  
  
Pete breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the last car seat on the shelf. Faced with a conundrum, he brushed Patrick's hair aside and told him he had to put him down now. "Yeah, - stop shaking your head, little buddy - I can't carry you and this seat, okay, just for five - ugh, stop grabbing, you've got quite a death grip there, I, uh, can't breathe - just for five minutes, okay. Look, go over there and pick some flowers for your mommy."

  
Brightening at the mention of flowers, Patrick dashed headfirst across the store, magically avoiding knocking anything over. Pete grabbed the seat and came over to him, to be proudly presented with a pretty bouquet of pink roses. "These!" He declared.  
Pete winced. He could afford fifteen dollars. He _really_ wanted Patrick's mom to trust him with her kid.  
  
They (Pete) paid for the stuff and scarpered. There hadn't been a bathroom to change in, but Pete had forgotten Patrick's backpack anyway.  
Processing reverently with the flowers, taking great care to keep them upright, Patrick hummed to himself. When Pete opened the passenger door unthinkingly, Patrick used his not unremarkable climbing skills to plant himself in the seat.

  
Pete remembered something. "Sh- um, poop - Trickster, you have to sit in the back, sweetie. Kids aren't allowed in the front."  
Pete eyed Patrick pleadingly, begging him not to flip out. He hopped down without complaint, except to hang his head and mutter mournfully, "I wanted to sit with you."  
  
"I'm sorry, Rickster. It's only like ten minutes now."  
Patrick kept his arms crossed as Pete struggled with the passenger and lifted Patrick into it and then disappeared to get into his own seat.  
"Music?" He said quietly while Pete started the engine.  
"Huh? Oh... um, it's all in the back of my seat, why don't you pick something?"  
  
Patrick clapped his hands, digging in while Pete tried to remember what was in there at that moment, hoping there was nothing with a really explicit cover. Patrick squealed and Pete adjusted the rearview mirror just in time to see him coming up with something blue and all too familiar. "This is ours!" he yelled, awestruck, "Thisonethisone!"  
Pete bit his lip. "I don't know if you'd like that one..."  
Steadfastly ignoring him, Patrick took the CD carefully out of its case and handed it to Pete.  
Making sure the volume wasn't too loud, Pete put it in. As soon as the first track started, Patrick started singing happily under his breath, doubling his volume and singing 'pee' whenever his older self sang 'piss'.

  
  
***

  
  
Patrick's mom looked a little shocked at the sight of Pete, with small Patrick on his hip, clinging to his neck, but recovered quickly. "Come in, Pete," she smiled.  
"Thanks, Mrs Stumph. Uh, sorry about this, a little someone couldn't  quite hold on," he apologised, shifting Patrick on his hip. She turned to Patrick who, up to this point, had been staring up at Pete. " _Hi_ , Ricky!"  
  
He broke his trance and turned to face her, squirming in Pete's grip and making little grunts of exertion.  
"Mommy!" he yelled, bouncing over to her before his bare feet hit the floor.  
She lifted him up and kissed his head. "All right, baby boy?" She cooed into his hair.  
He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. I'm hungry though. But, Mommy, this is Petey who looks after me now! He's good," he added sincerely, with a meaningful look at Pete that made him grin and blush, but at least he didn't tear up.  
  
Mrs Stumph lowered her son to the floor with a smile. "I'm sure he is, Rick. Can you go set the table for mommy?"  
Patrick nodded enthusiastically and disappeared into the kitchen.  
Half expecting to be maimed now that Patrick had disappeared, Pete yelped in surprise when he was pulled into a full-frontal embrace that lasted a few seconds before he was released.  
  
"Oh, Pete, thank you so much for  
looking after my baby! I get so worried about him... I wanted him to tell you, you know, but he was too shy. Honestly, we're both so grateful to you..." she gushed.  
  
Pete went red. "I really don't mind, Mrs Stumph... He's my best friend. I was, uh, I was pretty upset that he didn't tell me, that he was just hanging out by himself each time. Uh," he scratched the back of his neck and went even redder, "I'm happy to anyway, he's sweet, and he's been behaving pretty good for me so far..."  
Mrs Stumph smiled fondly at him - "Call me Pat, please," - and guided him into the kitchen, which also had a table in it.  
  
"Mommy, mommy," Patrick was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, "Can Petey sit next to me?"  
Pat inclined her head. "Sure, baby."  
Pete went to Patrick's chair, with the cushion on so he could reach the table, and pulled it out, lifted Patrick into it, and tucked him in. He was twisted around in his seat to watch Pete the whole time, which made him smile despite himself.

  
"Can I help with the food or anything?"  
"No, honey, thanks for offering. It's just waffles, it's all ready." She glanced at where Patrick was swinging his bare feet impatiently. "He loves waffles; I always make them for him. Just sit down, sweetie."  
Pete shrugged and took the seat next to Patrick, who reached across and took his hand and sighed happily, shuffling in his seat.  
"My mommy really likes you," he nodded.  
  
***  
  
The remainder of the day consisted of Pete mainly watching from the sidelines, valuing Patrick's alone time with his mom. At some point, he fell asleep on the couch and was woken up by Pat nudging him awake. She glanced down at Pete's  lap and he followed her gaze. A little Patrick was slumbering happily in his lap, babbling quietly and making sleepy little noises that constricted Pete's heart. He had a hand fisted in Pete's shirt.

  
Patrick's head was slightly damp and he'd left a wet spot on Pete's jeans: He'd already had his bath, tea, and his haircut and been allowed half an hour of tv with Pete. Pete had sat through more than half an hour of truly awful children's television until he'd fallen asleep, and decided that after this Big Patrick owed him at least one Tim Burton film.  
  
She bit her lip looking at the sleeping boy. He'd changed into some better fitting clothes after breakfast, pyjamas since he'd decided, unusually, that he didn't want to go out. "I don't want to wake him up... normally we read together before he goes to bed, though. I guess it doesn't really matter, if you think about it, but he's not confident at reading and I know he doesn't read when he's on his own..."  
  
Pete promised to read with him whenever he was with Pete, then gently picked him up and carried him bridal style to bed, placing him down like something incredibly fragile, and kissing him softly on the head and murmuring, "Night, night, Trickster," whole Pat watched, smiling from the doorway.  
  
He was about to straighten up when he felt a tiny hand shoot out and grab his shirt, but looking at Patrick he seemed to be very nearly asleep, if he wasn't totally. He must've gotten woken up on the way upstairs, and was lying, tiny in his enormous bed, looking perfectly relaxed apart from the tiny fingers clenched around Pete's shirt.

  
He glanced helplessly at Pat. "I, uh, usually sleep in his bed - when he's small, that is," he admitted, adding the last part and blushing furiously.  
Pat smiled. "I'll admit, I completely forgot to make you up a bed. It doesn't seem like you'll be getting out of that death grip any time..."  
Pete smiled down at Patrick. "Mrs- Pat, could you pass me my bag? It's just on the chair. There's a pair of sweats right in the top... yeah. Thanks."  
She tossed them to him, flicking out the light. "Night, Ricky. Night, Pete."  
  
***  
  
Pete woke up in a cold sweat at about six am, realising Patrick had never changed into his baggy shirt, but when he turned around there was a still-small form tucked into his side and he breathed out hard.  
Patrick woke up immediately after, inexplicably tied to Pete's sleeping patterns, and wrinkled his nose sleepily. He rubbed his eyes with chubby fists and curled back into Pete.

  
"Why aren't you big?" Pete hissed worriedly.  
"Huh? Why?" Patrick grumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes again.  
"I thought you got big again when you went to sleep!" Pete said in panicked tones.  
Rolling over and staring at him like he was an idiot, Patrick whined sleepily. "Why'd you think that?"  
  
  
Pete breathed out slowly, calming his heart. " _Oh._ Well, you always did before? Sorry, go back to sleep..."  
Patrick smiled sleepily. "Don't worry, Petey. Sometimes I do, but I always come to Mommy's when it's the longer ones."  
"Oh."  
He giggled. "Go to sleep, worry pants." Unable to reach Pete's face,  Patrick kissed his arm instead and shuffled up further into his side and squirmed there until he was happy.  
  
  
***  
  
  
"I think we should tell Andy," Pete said on the car ride back.  
Little Patrick stopped singing and folded his arms, the universal sign for trouble. "No."  
"Aw, come on," Pete tried, giving Patrick his best puppy eyes. Patrick just returned with his own puppy eyes, and Patrick's puppy eyes were far superior.

  
Pete groaned. "Look, we're going back on tour after Christmas, and in the van - even with me - it's gonna be tricky. And what if I'm busy on urgent business or something? What if - What if something happens to me? What if you decide you hate me and kick me out the band? I think you should at least let me tell the rest of the band, and Andy's probably the easiest to start with, and then he can explain to Joe. C'mon, Stumpski, please?"  
Patrick frowned. "Okay. But you're talking."  
  
  
***  
  
Andy was in the kitchen making a sandwich that was undoubtedly going to be disgusting and way too full of vegetables for Pete's liking.  
"Hey, Andy, can I uh... can I talk to you for a second?"  
Patrick was clinging to Pete's hand, shaking. He'd told Pete he didn't expect to be big again before late afternoon. When Andy turned around, he lost his nerve and hid behind Pete's legs  
  
"What's up, Pete?"  
Pete turned behind himself, murmuring to Patrick, "Come on out, lil guy."  
Andy followed Pete's gaze and saw the tiny child peeking shyly out around Pete's legs, apparently not recognising him. Pete supposed it wouldn't be anyone's first thought - Andy hadn't seen Patrick's baby photos and probably spent less time committing his features to memory than Pete did.  
  
Andy's eyes crinkled as he crooned delightedly, "Who's _this_? Hey there, buddy!"  
Emboldened by Andy's kindness and apparent lack of recognition, Patrick inched forward, out of the protection Pete provided.  He glanced back at Pete with big eyes and held his hands up to be picked up. Andy, always eager to show off his strength, obliged with a 'whoof' sound as he swung Patrick into the air easily.

Pete watched with a hint of jealousy as Patrick nestled into Andy's shirt, blinking back at Pete.  
"What's your name then, little guy?" He shot a glare at Pete that said ' _I don't know where you got this, admittedly adorable, small child, but you better put him back where he belongs pretty soon_ ' and smiled down at the little boy in his arms.  
  
Hiding behind a fringe of hair, tiny Patrick looked away. Big or small, he was a seasoned pro at avoiding eye contact.  
"Patrick?" he said shyly, almost inaudible, not looking at Andy.  
Andy gaped, more at Pete than Patrick, who he almost dropped in shock. Once he knew, it was obvious from a glance. Pete sighed, relieved. He'd been worried Andy wouldn't believe it as easily Pete had, and they'd have to stress small Patrick out even more with questions and requirements of proof.  
  
"Are you mad, Andy?" Patrick peeped in a small voice from Andy's shirt, turning to stare up at him with huge, anxious eyes.  
"No, I'm not mad at _you_ , little guy," He recovered, not quite able to call Patrick by name yet. He shot Pete another look over Patrick's head that clearly said ' _you better explain right the fuck now_ '.  
  
Pete put his hands behind his back and swallowed. "Patrick, uh... has a little, um, _thing_ that means he, y'know..." he gestured at the miniature Patrick, who was engaged in burrowing into Andy's shirt, "Does _that_? It's not permanent! I think it's only for a day or so, usually... about once a week. I only, uhm, found out... a few weeks ago. He'd just been hiding it for the whole time he lived here. I think his mom used to, like look after him. It's okay though - I got it all under control now... I think?"  
  
He saw Patrick nodding against Andy's chest. Pete was glad that they chose to tell Andy first because Andy now seemed remarkably unruffled once he was satisfied with the explanation. He adjusted Patrick's position so he could look into his eyes. "I thought you two had _something_ to tell me. It wasn't exactly _that_..." Andy said cryptically, "All right, well, listen, I'm always around if Pete here isn't g-"  
In a tone that conveyed 'why does no one ever listen to me' Patrick argued, "Petey is _good_!"  
  
Andy blinked at him. "Okay then. But I'm here if you need me, yeah?"  
Patrick nodded and clambered up Andy's arms to plant a slimy kiss on his face with a satisfied expression when Andy made a startled noise.  
"Petey says I'm cuddly," he explained matter-of-factly.

  
Andy laughed indulgently. "Does he now?" He glanced at Pete and whispered, " _Awww_!" indicating Patrick with his eyes.  
Pete grinned.  
Andy whispered something in Patrick's ear and then Patrick was nodding his head up and down and waving his hands in the air.  
He squealed loudly when Andy threw him up into the air, clinging to Andy again when he caught him.  
"Andy, stop it, you're _scaring_ him!" Pete yelled, surging forward.  
  
Like the traitors they were, they both had the nerve to giggle at Pete. Pete growled at them. Once he'd calmed down, Patrick had a change of heart and made grabby hands at Pete, squirming frantically.  
Glaring at Andy, Pete carefully took him back and squeezed him tightly.

  
"Does Joe know?"  
Pete bit his lip. "We were hoping you'd talk to him?"  
Andy looked like he was about to tell Pete to buck the hell up, when he saw Patrick making an anxious face and clasping his hands together pleadingly. Andy sighed. "Yeah, okay."  
Pete grinned. "This makes tour a lot easier. Oh! And, uh we're not supposed to swear or talk about violence or _S-E-X_ in front of him," he poked Patrick's head playfully to punctuate his statement.  
Patrick nodded. "Or you get pinched," he agreed gleefully.  
  
"And don't do _that_ again," Pete added, in reference to the throwing Patrick in the air incident, pulling Patrick even closer.  
"I won't pinch you if you do that," Patrick whispered, smirking.  
  
Pete racked his brain for any more of Patrick's rules. "I think that's all... if you're not sure about anything then I guess just ask him when he's bigger. You don't really need to get involved though; it's mainly so he doesn't have to sneak around here and on tour."  
   
"Okay then, Pete. I gotta dash, but I guess I'll see you around. I'm always here if you need me, though," he reiterated.  
He disappeared, ruffling Patrick's hair on the way out. Patrick was carefully playing with Pete's hair and broke away to give Andy a little wave before returning to whatever he was doing to Pete's matted black locks.  
"You have pretty hair," he confided. "Also I want to be a vegantarian."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Patrick was sick. It was obviously Pete's fault, having had a casual cold and passed it on to Patrick in a much more severe form, right on time for the Christmas period. He moved little, moping on the couch and in his bed, annoying everyone by leaving tissues everywhere.

Andy usually cleaned them up, probably because he was in such perfect health that he was immune to all disease. Joe, on occasion, wandered into a room occupied by Patrick only to hear him blowing his nose - loudly and disgustingly - and run away screaming like a banshee. That always made Patrick smirk for a few seconds before returning to his flu-drenched misery.  
Pete, meanwhile, took it upon himself to care for Patrick - if it was the same illness he'd shaken off, it was partly his fault and anyway, he should be immune to it.  
  
"I want to _diiiiiie_ ," Patrick moaned around a mouthful of the tinned soup Pete had heated up for him.  
"No you don't," Pete pointed out reasonably, "I know wanting to die, and you don't want to."  
Patrick winced. "Sorry," he mumbled, Rs muted into Bs by his blocked nose.

  
Pete leaned his head against Patrick's shoulder. "It's okay. I'm a dick for bringing it up. I'm a dick anyway for-"  
Without thinking, Patrick shoved the tissue he was holding (and had yet to use, he wasn't _that_ gross) in Pete's mouth. It wasn't what he had aimed to do, judging by the startled expression on his face that perfectly matched Pete's. Trying not to choke, Pete carefully extricated the tissue, smiling at it as he sat up.  
  
"I didn't mean to do that..." Patrick mumbled sheepishly. It was almost the vocal equivalent of the illegible handwriting of someone with a broken hand, his stuffed nose marring all the consonant sounds.  
  
Pete sighed happily. "It's okay. It _worked_ , anyway. You always look after me."  
Patrick closed his eyes. "I think you got that the wrong way 'round."  
Shaking his head, Pete leaned back against Patrick's shoulder.

They stayed like that in silence, Patrick's arm snaking around Pete like it never did and he felt bad because Patrick was ill and yet here he was, looking after Pete. Again. More than once, Pete had wished he could be a kid sometimes too; so Patrick could look after him, and he could innocently say what he really thought to everyone, and he wouldn't have to worry so much, and maybe he could make Patrick feel better the way he made Pete feel better with his joyful laughter and quickly forgotten tears. Then he thought that Patrick didn't _need_ to feel better. At least, he never did before he met Pete.  
  
Right before Pete crossed the point of no return in his head, Patrick appeared in a lifeboat and offered a hand. "What are you thinking about in there?"  
Pete eyed the hand nervously. He was going to die without it, but if he grabbed on he was going to make Patrick soaking wet at the very least, pulling him in and drowning them both at worst.  
Feeling guilty, he closed his eyes and grabbed on.  
"I don't know... How I'm a burden?" he bit out, hating how self-pitying he seemed. Before he could regret it, he explained the boat analogy to Patrick.  
  
"Did you ever think that having to watch you drown would be just as bad for me as getting pulled in with you? I can swim, you know."  
  
Pete didn't mean to start crying. He turned his body at a right angle to Patrick's, buried his whole face in Patrick's shoulder, and bawled his eyes out. The feeling of Patrick breathing slowly, his fingers stroking Pete's hair gently, the soft whispers of air across Pete's hair that told him Patrick was mumbling something comforting - Pete couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own head - just made him cry harder.

  
"I love you so fucking much, Patrick Stump," he cried into Patrick's solidness. He felt like smoke, in a bad way, like all the bits of him were getting away and he couldn't keep them together. Patrick kept him together.  
"I'm dirty, and I think I don't work the way I was meant to, like I don't understand how other people even... I don't know. I'm don't do anything good, I'm just a _burden_..."  
Although he'd stopped sobbing, his eyes were still leaking and he was breathing heavily.  
  
Patrick snorted bitterly. To Pete, it sounded at first like he was just blowing his nose. "If you look up burden in the dictionary, there's a picture of me."  
As if he was embarrassed, Pete noticed that Patrick almost never talked directly about being small, preferring to thank Pete profusely immediately after so Pete didn't mistake it for ungratefulness, and then more or less continue on as if it hadn't happened, except for occasional vague references. Some of said vague reference had Pete wondering if maybe he wanted to talk about it more, but held himself back because of the same anxious and embarrassed cocktail that had stopped him telling Pete in the first place.  
  
"You think you're a _burden_?" Pete gaped in disbelief. "You- because of your thing?" Expertly not meeting his eyes, Patrick nodded slowly.  
Like a fish, Pete opened and closed his mouth for a few breaths. "But- ugh, Patrick, everyone has their _thing_! Like how I'm a black hole, and how Andy makes you feel like an unhealthy sack of processed meat, and how Joe makes the whole house fucking stiny. And your thing is _literally_ just that you're adorable? It's kind of unfair."  
Pete scanned Patrick's red face for clues about how to proceed.  
  
"Oh my god. You do get that I'm not just putting up with it and hating it, as a _favour_ to you? You're- I'm- _Oh my god_. You're an _idiot_! I'm the most selfish person on the planet - like, if I hated it, trust me, I wouldn't be doing it. I wouldn't just ditch you, you're my best friend,but I am not afraid to palm you off on Andy. Luckily, I love Patrick Stumps of all shapes and sizes."  
  
Filled with a mixture of suspicion and something raw, exposed, Patrick wiped his eyes.  
  
Pete grunted and snuggled into his side. "D'you think you're getting better at all?"  
  
"Nope. I think I'm going to be sick at least another week. I just don't want to be sick on actual Christmas."  
  
Pete realised something. "Do you stay sick when you're small? Cause if it's another week at least then-"  
Groaning, Patrick buried his face in his hands. "Fuck, don't remind me."

At Pete's questioning look he elaborated, "Yeah, I really do. It's totally miserable. You must remember being sick when you were a kid. It's way worse, right? Yeah, first of all it just feels worse, I guess everything seems more of a big deal. Secondly, your immune system is weaker so it actually _is_ worse, and you get upset easier, so there's crying, which is also worse when you're bunged up. Feels even more like you can't breathe. You can't run around or play or let off any energy so you get really restless, but at the same time you're super tired. You can't do anything for yourself anyway, so you're super reliant on other people  and you don't have any idea what's going on except that you'd rather die than take your medicine. One day feels like eternity and you're convinced you'll never get better, and you're scared your going to die but everyone just laughs at you when you ask them to call an ambulance."

  
Catching Pete's sympathetic expression - with a slight smile he couldn't hold back after the last part - Patrick quirked an insincere smile even though he suddenly looked very-worn out. Pete wrapped an arm around him and fluffed up his hair. "That _sucks_ , Trick, I'm so sorry you gotta do that," he said mournfully.  
  
Patrick looked up with a slightly devious smirk. "It's not just me though, rest assured I will completely take it out on you. Also, you'll probably have to wait on me hand and foot and it lasts longer when I'm sick, I don't know why specifically but it kind of makes sense when you think about it? It was four days when I got pneumonia, so who know long exactly? And I'll be a huge shit like,  you think I'm unbearable _now_..."  
  
"Is it bad that I'm glad you need me?"  
Confused, kind eyes turned on Pete, searching his face in a way that made him shiver. "What?"  
  
"Like... I've always needed you, and you were always so... I don't know, _okay_ I guess? Like if I disappeared of the face of the earth, you'd be fine? So, I know it's selfish but... sometimes I'm glad. Because it's probably the only reason you need me," Pete admitted.  
  
"Pete," Patrick sighed, "I _always_ need you, maybe I'm not obvious enough but I _do_... But, more importantly, I _want_ you. Like, I don't have a choice, when I need you because of _that_ , so doesn't it mean more when I could just as easily run away, when I don't have to have you, and I still want to? You're my best friend, Pete, I don't have to need you. I'm not going to tell you to stop feeling like that, because I know you can't help it, but whenever you do, try and remember that _I, Patrick Stump, need you, Pete Wentz_." He snorted lightly, "And I would _not_ be fine if you disappeared of the face of the earth."  
  
***  
  
"Hey, Patty, are you okay? Usually you would be up and ordering me about by now. I'm wor- _Oh_..."  
"Petey, I'm _sick_."  
Pete took a breath and felt his demeanour change from the one he used with big Patrick to the one he used on his littler counterpart.  
  
"Yeah, Tricky, I heard," he muttered sympathetically, coming over to stroke Patrick's hair comfortingly.  
  
"'M sorry I didn't call," the bungling of the letters by Patrick's stuffy nose was even more obvious when he was small, "I can't get up. My phone is over there."  
"It's okay," Pete smiled, shifting Patrick a little to the side to make room for Pete to sit on top of the bed next to him. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"  
Irritated by the duvet blocking his access to Pete, Patrick bucked up weakly, not really able to move but still determined to wrap himself around Pete like he always managed to do.  
  
"Maybe... if you come under with me?" he suggested. "I want a hug."  
Once Pete had deciphered what he was actually saying amongst all the snuffling and almost every letter being replaced with a b, he rolled his eyes. "Spoilt brat," he grumbled, but he was shuffling under the covers.  
  
As soon as the barrier between them was gone, Patrick shuffled so he had his head on Pete's chest and his body curled up in Pete's side. He moved slowly and made little huffing sounds every time he did - the first clue that he was really ill: usually small Patrick moved with lightening speed whenever he got the chance to clamber all over Pete.  
"C'mon, I kept my part of the bargain."  
Patrick blinked up at Pete with adoring blue eyes, then turned and dived into Pete's shirt. " _Dyiiiiiing_ ," he whined, muffled by the fabric.  
  
"Ricky, people can't hear you when you talk to their shirts. Come up here."  
Patrick groaned and shuffled a little further up Pete's torso and then gave up. When he started to talk again, he tried to bury himself back in Pete's shirt but Pete caught him and gently nudged him back around. "Everything is heavy and I can't breathe and it's too hot and my throat hurts when I talk and my nose is all snuffly and earlier I coughed so hard I threw up a little in my mouth," he whined, immediately planting his face back in Pete's ribs once he was done.  
  
Pete chuckled, "TMI," as he felt Patrick's forehead (he had to nudge him over again to get to it) and Pete didn't know much about taking temperatures of children so it was mainly just to make Patrick feel safer by pretending he knew what he was doing, but Patrick's heat had started to bleed through the two layers of clothing and his whole body felt like a furnace.  
"Holy Sh- shoe," Pete recovered awkwardly, not that the weakly snuffling Patrick was in much of a state to care, "Trickster, you're _boiling_!"  
  
Patrick nodded. He'd been slowly inching up Pete's frame and was now up to his neck. He didn't respond, snuffling loudly in and out against Pete's neck.  
"Um, Buddy? That's, that's- you're pretty full of snot right now, and I'm very touched but you're kind of snorting it all out onto my neck, which I'm not loving. Let me get you a tissue," he coaxed.  
  
" _Nooo_!" Patrick wheedled and clung tighter. "I'm really tired just stay here I won't get boogers on you I promise!" His voice was squeaky and hoarse from his sore throat when he spoke.  
Pete couldn't help but to laugh. He would've laughed much harder, as Patrick had once again managed to be both hilarious and adorable, but his face was white as a sheet and he clung weakly to Pete, making desperate little whimpers. When Pete moved just slightly to get comfortable, he coiled his legs around Pete's stomach and clamped his thighs as tightly as he could.  
  
"I can't help thinking that I shouldn't just give into everything you say. I think I should transfer you into Andy's custody or something - you need some discipline, kid."  
"I don't want Andy's dissypin custard. I want you," Patrick told Pete's neck seriously.  
  
"You're sweet, you know that? Well, either that or you're _super_ manipulative. But I know you want to just stay in bed and never get up but I think it would help if you did get up? We could get some vapour rub, or you could go in the bath and steam it out? And when you stand up everything drains down so you won't be so blocked up. _Personally_ , I always feel better once I'm up."  
Patrick didn't say anything.  
"Rickster, I'm serious, don't just _ignore_ me! We talked about that it's r-"  
  
The shaking on his chest cut Pete off. He realised it was Patrick, even paler than usual and shaking uncontrollably.  
He was whimpering, amongst other things, Pete's name, 'cold cold cold' and 'too hot too hot' and didn't respond when Pete said his name.  
"Andy!" Pete screamed, sitting up and pulling Patrick onto his lap and clinging to him in terror. " _ANDY_! Hurry up!"  
  
He could hear Andy's hurried footsteps and tried desperately not to burst into tears when he appeared. "Patrick's fucking boiling and he's shaking like shit and he's not responding to me and he says he's cold and hot at the same time, fuck Andy help him! I know I'm not meant to swear but I'm _so fucking scared,_ Andy, he can't exactly go to the hospital, and I don't want him to-" he blurted, terrified.  
  
He felt a cool hand on his shoulder. "Pete. _Pete_ it's okay, it's just chills. You get them sometimes with a fever. He's going to be ok, Pete. Don't worry."  
Pete tried to smoothen out his breathing, relaxing his too-tight grip on Patrick. Patrick's hair was damp with sweat and Pete could feel his teeth chattering. He kissed Patrick's head and brushed the sweat-damp hair from his head.  
"I'm not worrying," he lied, breathing out shakily.  
  
"Patrick? Can you hear me?" Andy said in his soft voice.  
Patrick nodded slowly. His shivering seemed to be losing steam but his eyes were hazy and vacant. Pete inhaled.  
"Okay," Andy said, checking his phone, "This says he should be dressed in loose clothes and we should get the blankets off so he can cool down."

  
Patrick whimpered through his chattering teeth and clung to Pete when the blanket was removed. "Petey... Petey it's cold I'm too cold Petey it hurts it's _cold_..." he mumbled feverishly.  
"He doesn't need to cool down! He's freezing!" Pete screeched, pulling Patrick up so he straddled Pete's legs and could get his arms around Pete's neck, Pete's arms going around Patrick's back and holding him up. He didn't even mind Patrick's snuffling and chattering into his collarbone.  
  
"Pete," Andy said calmly, "He's really _not,_ he just thinks he is." Andy guided Pete's hand to Patrick's forehead which was of course, burning up.  
Pete sighed and muttered an apology, still holding Patrick protectively.  
"It also says we should get him some water..."  
Pete eyed Andy warily. "I'm not leaving him!" He pulled Patrick closer, muttering comforts in his ear.  
  
Andy held his hands up in half despair half surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll go."  
By the time Andy returned with the water, Pete had Patrick sitting in his lap, facing outwards and sitting up of his own accord, not buried in Pete but refusing to actually move off him. Pete had an arm curled loosely around his waist. The shaking had mostly subsided. Patrick had the energy to reach out and take the glass from Andy's hand.  
  
Having taken a seat next to the bed, Andy watched Patrick in Pete's lap; Patrick turned to look at Pete whenever he had the opportunity, smiling cheekily if he caught Pete's attention and staring with adoration if he thought he didn't; Pete held the glass of water to Patrick's mouth and tipped it up gently, supporting Patrick at the waist with his other arm, peering around to make sure Patrick was drinking; he kissed Patrick's head tenderly as many times as he could get away with. "Attention seeker," he teased in a whisper, on the fifth time Patrick turned around.  
  
They both started guiltily when Andy coughed. "I'm like, half an hour late to my group run- not that it's anyone's fault, but I think I'm going to go so I can make the end and apologise. Patrick, if you're definitely okay..."  
  
Patrick nodded earnestly. "I think I'm a lot better now, thank you Andy," he said in the funny way five year olds speak when they're trying to be polite.  
"Okay well... You call me if anything happens. Joe should be around but  I think he's-" Andy glanced at Patrick and, trying to be as child-friendly as possible, pointed at the sky and did his best high face.  
  
Pete snorted.  
"Bye, Pete. Bye, my guy! I hope you get well soon." He ruffled Patrick's hair on his way out.  
Patrick crossed his arms and huffed. "Why does  everyone do that to me?" he complained.  
Pete chuckled. "Because you're _cute_! And you have touchable hair? It's just, like a thing that people do to kids, I guess..."

  
Patrick, a huge sucker for flattery, turned around and grinned at Pete. "You think I'm cute! I don't mind when you do it anyway, but _everyone_ does it to me, it's annoying," he huffed.  
"I'm sorry, Pattycakes."  
About to reply, Patrick broke off into harsh coughing. Unable to do much to help, and hating the fact, Pete rubbed his free hand up and down Patrick's back soothingly and pulled him closer with the hand that was around his waist, planting a kiss on his head.    
  
When Patrick was done coughing, he turned to Pete and whined, " _Huuuurts_."  
Lightly, Pete patted his head. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm sorry baby boy, I know it hurts." He rocked gently back and forth, Patrick in his lap, and made shushing sounds mumbling _'it's okay. it's okay_ ' over and over.

  
"Okay, I still think you should try and get up. I won't make you do anything active but you need some breakfast and I really think a bath and standing up might help. And if it's really bad, I can only get the medicine if you let me up."  
Chewing his lip, Patrick looked up mournfully at Pete. "Okay," he agreed slowly.  
  
He made no effort to get out by himself, just held his pants on - he'd fallen asleep in them and they were much too big and, without a belt to tighten excessively, they were at risk of falling off - so Pete held him and tried to navigate getting out of bed while holding a small child.  
  
"Okay, first off, you need to get changed. You can wear pyjamas if you want, but you can't stay in that."  
Patrick, still holding his pants around himself like a towel, at least agreed to that one. He had his head hooked over Pete's shoulder and it kind of stabbed when he nodded.  
"What d'you want?"  
Patrick hummed. "You chose," he croaked.  
  
Getting Patrick's box out while holding said Patrick was tricky, but Pete didn't think either of them had the energy to argue about putting Patrick down at that moment, so he did it anyway.    
Obligingly, Pete chose a fluffy pair of pyjama pants with bears on that looked comfy and a long sleeved  shirt that looked similarly cosy, added a pair of boxers and a pair of socks chosen at random, sitting down on the bed without letting go of Patrick to get him dressed.  
Yawning (which was so adorable holy shit Pete was doing to die his hair was all fluffed up and he was rubbing his eyes with his fists and smiling sleepily and Pete was going to die) Patrick eyed Pete's selection and wriggled unhappily in his lap, making Pete grab his waist quickly to stop him failing off the bed.  
  
"Andy said I shouldn't wear warm clothes," he recalled.  
Pete pouted. "But I worked so hard picking these. Anyway you're okay now. It's not like I'm wrapping you in blankets..." _Also I'm not feeling super well myself, probably because you've been helpfully smearing your germs on me, and I love you but if I have to carry you again I'm going to drop you on purpose if I don't do it accidentally._  
  
Patrick could see through Pete quite easily, and rolled his eyes to prove it. "You're such a _baby_. You're an even bigger baby than me, and I'm _five_ and mommy says I'm small for my age. It's just cause you don't want to get up. It's okay, though. I don't want to get up either," he sighed in his croaky flu-ridden voice.  
  
With the expression of a teacher confiscating a phone from someone texting in class, he held out his hand for the underwear and told Pete to close his eyes. Pete felt him squirming in his lap and then Patrick told him to open, and now Pete had to work out how to get him dressed without either of them getting up.  
"You're such a pain, Ricky, how am I supposed to do this without getting up? Ignoring him, Patrick held his hands up in the air ready for the shirt, which Pete almost put on the wrong way, and the shirt was the easy part.  
  
He reached around them both, holding the pants, and blindly guided Patrick's tiny feet into the only slightly less tiny pant legs. About three minutes of shifting and tugging on both ends and the pants were on. Hoarsely giggling, Patrick turned and planted a kiss on Pete's cheek and when he pulled away to look Pete in the eyes, Pete felt a wet spot left behind. Worse, he wasn't sure if it was from Patrick's mouth or his nose, but either way now they _both_ needed a tissue.  
  
"Tricky, you're ridiculously sick, so let's try and keep that away from my nose and mouth where the bug can get in, yeah? Love you, though," he added so it didn't come out too harshly, punctuated with a kiss to Patrick's hair.  
"You're no fun."  
"Yeah. You love me. You'd rather I gave you to Andy? Oooh, how about _Joe_?" Pete taunted, but the hand around Patrick's waist and the protective way Pete held him said that it was more likely to be Pete than Patrick who was opposed to that.  
  
"I'm making up double the kisses once I'm better," Patrick informed him.  
"Okay. What do you wanna do now? Bathtime? Breakfast?"  
"Okay, well _obviously_ ," Patrick rolled his eyes, "I just got dressed, so I'm not going in the bath, am I?"  
  
"You're a rude little shi- _guy_ , huh? I hope you've always been like this 'cause if it's me spoiling you, your mom's gonna _kill_ me. Breakfast then?"  
  
***  
  
While they were eating breakfast, they were treated to an encounter with Joe. Pete didn't think he was high, but it was hard to tell with Joe, who acted like he was high all the time.  
"Huh," he said when he entered the kitchen/dining room. He'd seen a picture Andy had managed to sneakily take during their confession to him, but he hadn't actually seen Patrick in the flesh when he was small. He didn't seem particularly shocked, to be fair to him.  
  
"Oh, hi, Patrick. Pete. I'll uh..." He started to head out of the room and then suddenly reappeared. "Uh, wait though, can I..." he dithered awkwardly, "Can I like, ask you... y'know, can I ask you guys a question?"  
Pete shrugged, sunconsciously shifting closer to Patrick as was his protective instinct.  
"Okay," Joe started hesitantly, "So isn't it _weird_? Because you guys are fucking?"  
  
Pete stopped and glared at Joe, who carrived on, completely oblivious.  
"What? I mean, like, how do you... turn it off- y'know like, so you don't end up thinking about fucking a five-"  
  
One look at Patrick watching Joe with an oddly blank expression and Pete stood up, relishing in the dramatic scrape of his chair. "Ohmygod, shut  _up_! First of all, we don't talk about that - or swear - in front of him, and second of all what the _fuck_ , we're not fucking _banging_ each other what the _fuck_!"  
Pete was even more irritated to see Joe apparently unfazed by his tirade. "Oh... Wait are you sure? Cause, I mean, you know I'm not agai-"  
"We are not. Sleeping. Together," Pete grit out, standing protectively in front of Patrick.  
  
Joe turned to leave. "Okay. Sorry then - Are you sure, though? - it doesn't matter, sorry. And, uhm, Patrick, I'm sorry about the swearing."  
At Patrick's non-reply, Joe tried to peek around Pete, who was acting as a human shield. "Dude. Is he mad at me?"  
  
Blankly, Pete turned around to see. Patrick was curled tightly into a ball, rocking himself back and forth and panting in time. He had his hands clamped over his ears and his face was so white he looked completely devoid of blood. His eyes were squeezed shut. As Pete watched, he broke off into coughing again, struggling to keep his ears covered.  
  
"Shit, Pete, you made the kid _cry!_ " Joe rushed forward to stand in front of him. "Patrick?" He touched Patrick on the arm, getting a foot to the stomach when Patrick's reflexes kicked in and he instinctively lashed out at Joe before blushing and lowering his hands and curling back into an even tighter ball, but leaving his ears open once he realised there was no more yelling.  
  
Pete surged forward, ready to pick him up and kiss it better. Patrick glared at him and lifted his feet threateningly. Stepping back in shock, Pete felt sick.  
He barely registered what was going on as Joe hefted Patrick into his arms and started to bounce him lightly up and down, asking him what was wrong and mumbling comforts to him. Besides a mild flash of amazement at Joe's child-handling proficiency, he was overwhelmed with a hurricane of the same dark thoughts he'd always known. If he wasn't terrified to his core, slowly turning to detached numbness, he would be bored of them, always the same. I _fucked up, I'm a terrible person, I'm not good for anything, now they hate me, why do I exist, et cetera et cetera._  
  
One look at Patrick, buried peacefully in Joe's arms like he was either asleep or calmed down and Pete fled to his room in a jumble of self hatred and anger at his two friends, trying to say Patrick's name - to beg him not to hate Pete - as he turned but choking on it and coming out strangled.  
_He doesn't need me_.

  
***

  
  
There was a knock on the door, which Pete ignored. Watching the door handle twisting, but also ignoring it because he obviously did not care about anything, Pete prepared to dive back into his bedding and look nonchalant and like he hadn't just been crying. Like he didn't need Patrick either.  
  
He ignored Patrick when he came in, ignored him when he said Pete's name, ignored him when he tentatively poked the lump on the bed. Tried to ignore him when he climbed onto the bed and under the covers and lay on top of Pete, their cheeks touching, but gave up when Patrick stroked the red blotch under Pete's eye and said in his gentle voice - which seemed, worryingly, to have gotten croakier since last time Pete heard him speak - "Oh. Usually, it's me who cries. Well, when I- Anyway, I'm sorry I got mad, Petey. I got scared I'm sorry I never meaned to upset you are you mad at me? It just- it reminded me of my mommy and daddy, when they fighted when I was more small... I'm sorry I just got really scared that people were shouting, but I'm not mad. Please don't be mad at me Petey? Won't you talk to me?"  
  
Pete shook his head. He wanted to tell Patrick he wasn't mad, couldn't be mad at Patrick ever, and that he just couldn't make himself talk right now but, well, he couldn't talk right now. Reaching an arm awkwardly across to stroke Patrick's hair, he tried to convey this nonverbally.  
  
Patrick shifted so Pete could be more comfortable, with his head nestled into the curve of Pete's neck. Pete could feel laboured breathing on his jawbone. He sort of wanted to cry, or hug Patrick or scream at him to fuck off, but he could barely move so he just kept breathing shakily, stroking Patrick's hair.  
  
"Is this one of those where you can't talk?"  
Pete nodded gratefully and gathered up the energy to roll over and face Patrick. This was of course much better for cuddling and Patrick immediately snuggled into Pete's chest and hooked his arms as far around his waist as they would go.  
"It's okay."  
Pete shook his head.  
"Yeah it _is_ ," Patrick whispered again. Pete squirmed and tried to shake him off.  
"It _is_! It's okay. _I'm_ okay. I can be okay enough for you too. Sharing is caring, right?"  
Pete gave up and stayed still, flopping back against Patrick. "C'mon, if you get up now I won't make you talk all day? Please? I feel really sick and you said you'd get me a medi-"  
  
Pete gave in again and started to sit up and Patrick, for once, hopped off immediately without clinging. Patiently, he waited for Pete to get his balance and then gently took his hand and led him to the medicine cupboard that he couldn't reach.  
He giggled when Pete had to bounce on his tiptoes to reach the top shelf. Pete aimed a look at him that said 'what?'.  
Patrick shrugged lightly. "It's funny. We're _both_ sick. We can look after each other!"  
Pete gave a wan smile but Patrick apparently chose to ignore the wan and just take the smile, hugging Pete's leg fondly.  
Taking the opportunity while Patrick wasn't looking, Pete wiped his eyes.

  
  
***

  
  
On the second day, Pete said good morning to Patrick when he woke up and felt Patrick sleepily cling tighter. On the third day, when Patrick seemed much better, Pete was still subdued but he nodded when Patrick smiled softly and said, "You don't have to pretend to be okay. I'd rather you be not okay when you're not okay, so then when you are okay it's properly okay. I don't mind."  
"Okay."  
  
Later, when Pete was making lunch and left Patrick to his own devices for about five minutes, he came back to Patrick sitting in the floor in the bathroom with Pete's eyeliner smeared all over his eyes. He looked up guiltily and mumbled, "I just wanted to be pretty," when Pete walked in and Pete really couldn't help bursting into laughter at the sight of him. "Oh dear," he snorted, "Someone's made quite a mess, huh?" C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

  
He hefted Patrick into his arms, still snickering, and wiped Patrick's bangs back from his face to look into his eyes. "Next time though, ask me, okay? Apart from anything else, I can show you how to do it properly." He kissed Patrick's head and tried to get the black smears off as gently as he could. He took a picture on his phone when Patrick wasn't looking.  
At the end of the third day Patrick said he wanted to go in the bath by himself, and Pete heard the shower running and then big Patrick walked out in a towel. He smiled at Pete when Pete jumped in surprise - "Boo," and then shooed Pete out to get changed.

  
***  
  
  
It was one AM the next night. Pete was wondering what Patrick was doing for Christmas. He couldn't really ask now, but Pete was going to stay with his family for a week like always and he wanted to make sure Patrick would be okay without him, not that he was flattering himself, but he'd feel awful ditching him if he had no plans for Christmas.  
  
He was probably going to his parents' for the actual date, but they didn't really live far enough away that he was likely to be gone the whole week. It was only Pete who did that. Because... He didn't even know - they wanted to keep an eye on him. It was just what he'd always done since he moved out.  
  
He was lost in thought when he was drawn out by the knock at the door and Patrick appeared looking like a ghost, or an angel, haloed in the hall light, drooping in his white pyjamas. "Hey."  
Pete sat up. " _Hey._ You okay?" He said so softly that his lips barely parted.  
Patrick made a small noise. "Can I come in?"  
Pete nodded. "This is usually the other way around. Of course you can come in."

  
He shifted just in time to let Patrick into the bed and Patrick curled into his side, breathing heavily. Pete stroked his hair. "Talk about it?"  
Eyes open, Patrick looked up at Pete with a crease in his brow as he fought with himself. Pete wished he had long hair so it would hang over them both like a curtain and he could keep them both safe.  
  
"I want to get married," he said eventually, blushing red. When Pete opened his mouth with a confused expression, Patrick put a hand over his mouth.

"I mean, I want to like. Move out. Get married. Have kids. Grow old with someone. You can see the problem with that, right?" Once again, he didn't let Pete reply.  
"It's okay with friends but would, like, would _you_ want someone like me? It's not... And kids! I couldn't have kids, how weird would that be for them? I can't do that to a kid. And what what about when this person I've mysteriously managed to find, who puts up with their husband being a kid like 10% of the time, leaves me and I'm a single parent? How can I... Ugh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that much. I don't want you to worry..."  
  
Ever since Patrick had said ' _would you_ ' a strange electricity had been gathering and pulsing through Pete, so much that he was barely listening by the end. He felt a little dazed by it, but the main idea of it was _yes, I would_. He didn't know when that happened but it made his brain jump and itch while his body was paralysed. Patrick was still talking and Pete wanted to stand up and yell ' _I would_ ' so Patrick would shut up and _get it_.  
  
Pete had only just got it, but usually Patrick was the first one to get things, so he must've at least nearly got it by now. Apparently not, because he continued talking and Pete registered mild guilt that he had no idea what Patrick was saying, but it didn't matter because he _would_ want someone like that, _exactly_ like that.  
  
Aware that he was getting manic, Pete tried to control his breathing. Only when Patrick stopped and stared at him did he realise he hasn't just been breathing but whispering urgently, "Patrick. Patrick. 'Trick. Rick ta Life. Pattycakes. Princess Pat. Angel face. Winchester snomp. Lunchbox."  
  
Irritated, Patrick broke off and huffed at him. " _What_?"  
And Pete, through his Patrick-induced mania, still had morals.  
"Okay, Patrick-Patrick, so in romance movies they always just grab them and kiss them, right, but I always thought it was kind of... rapey?"  
Patrick boggled at him, face clearly saying _'what the fuck does this have to do with anything? Where are you going with this?'_  
  
Pete rolled his eyes, remarkably calm considering someone was letting off fireworks in his insides. Not nervous by a long shot, just lost in a confusing blur of emotions that he couldn't name or source, that faded as soon as he caught them. It didn't matter if he messed this up, because he would just explode and disappear into space in about five minutes anyway. " _Can I kiss you_?"

  
Patrick immediately went beet red. At the best of times, he was blushy and silly and so, so cute. Now, he was sputtering and looking scared. Pete wished he didn't have morals, because he should've known he wasn't going to get anywhere with Patrick, the most adorable, awkward, self deprecating and questionably straight nineteen year old Pete had ever met.

(Pete had seen Patrick looking at Andy's ass and yeah, _everyone_ looked at Andy's ass but not that often and they definitely didn't get that awkward and disappear to their rooms when Pete caught them looking, and once Pete had seen that, he caught Patrick guiltily looking at nearly as many guys as girls.)  
  
As Pete watched, Patrick's panic didn't go away. Continuing to open and close his mouth and look like a trapped animal, he made Pete want to kiss him even more.  
"'Trick," he said softly, "It's okay. You can say no, or you can definitely say yes but can you... y'know, say, something?"    
Daringly, he traced Patrick's jawline with his finger.

Possibly Patrick thought it was a trap or a prank or one of Pete's random makeouts, and didn't want to give an incriminating answer. Or, he just wasn't into Pete at all and wanted to die right now. Pete sighed. Next time, he was just going with the movie method. It might not be as respectful but by this point being forcefully kissed by someone you weren't into seemed preferable for both parties than this awkwardness.  
  
"Okay I'll put it this way. I'm not making you tell me if you want to, but would it make you ridiculously uncomfortable if I, hypothetically, kissed you?"  
Patrick narrowed his eyes but shook his head meekly.  
Pete ducked his head and caught Patrick's lips. He felt his heart cycle through stopping and restarting multiple times before Patrick adjusted the angle of Pete's head and slowly parted his lips.

Pete wanted to show Patrick the courtesy and gentleness he deserved, but the fireworks were coming out of Pete's mouth and he wanted Patrick to taste them too.  
He bit Patrick's lip gently and chuckled when Patrick squeaked.

He'd never felt so torn: he wanted to pull away, make sure it was real, make sure Patrick knew it was real, because Pete trusted his tongue more than his lips with Patrick; he wanted to stay in the electric comfort of Patrick forever; he wanted to slip his hands under Patrick's shirt; he wanted to cling to him and never move.  
  
"It's real," he mumbled, hoping Patrick would hear him and he could have the best of both worlds. He could feel Patrick's breath catch  against his lips and a surge of hope in his chest, but had failed to factor in their need for air. Patrick caved first, pushing Pete off and panting.  
With the security of Patrick gone, the fireworks receded into dizzy sickness.  
  
Pete rolled over and decided the best course of action was to pretend it was just a spontaneous, sleep-drunk makeout that they would forget in the morning.  
"No _way!_ " Patrick growled. "You're such a hypocrite, Pete. C'mon, I couldn't get away with that and you're not either."  
Pete knew what he was talking about and was aware that he was doing the exact same thing he'd gotten annoyed at Patrick about back in November, which seemed so long ago now. He didn't move.  
  
"Pete. It ended well last time, right? Turn over." Patrick ordered.  
Guiltily, Pete rolled over and stared fearfully up at Patrick and wow, he was so beautiful, how didn't Pete notice it before? He _had_ noticed it before, but usually when he was drunk and his sober little Patrick dragged him say from a fight and Pete thought it distantly; now Pete was consumed by it and ached to touch.

  
Carefully, Patrick leaned down and kissed Pete's lips sweetly, pulling away when Pete tried to deepen it hopefully.  
"Nuh-uh. There's time for that later. It's talking time now."  
  
Pete shut his eyes. "I would," he muttered. The conversation had progressed so much that it no longer held meaning, but it meant everything to Pete.  
"What?"  
"I didn't know- I only just realised, I mean... You asked if I would want someone like you and I. I suddenly figured it out like. Yeah. I _would_. That's all I got. Your turn."  
Patrick gaped at him. "So it is. It is _real_?"  
  
Pete's face softened. "Yeah. Of course it's real. You need to stop... I dunno. Doubting everything. It's maybe the only bit of me that's real."  
"I'm... I-" Patrick stammered, "I've... I've been in l- liked you since I was sixteen. But I mean. Then it was like, admiration. Like a celebrity crush."  
"'M not much of a celebrity," Pete snorted.  
"You were compared to me. I was... You _met_ me: I was a shy kid from the suburbs who liked pretentious music. I was boring. I wore _argyle_. You were... I don't even... You say a lot that I saved you, or whatever, but you saved me back, y'know. You're _alive_ \- you, oh my god it sounds so cheesy, but you made me alive. But it's not- I met you, and I got to know you and like, you're _you_..." he said helplessly.  
  
"I don't want to make you like me," Pete whispered.  
"You won't. You make me better. We're like two pieces: I keep you safe enough to stay alive and you make me be less safe, make me live a little."  
"Hey!" Pete protested, smiling, "Lose the words or you'll be better than me at that too."  
Patrick shook his head and pecked another kiss on Pete's lips.  
"Okay," Patrick said eventually, "We've done the, like, emotions talk. But we need to do the... logistics."

  
Pete frowned at him in confusion.  
"Like... are we dating now? And the band's getting bigger, do we tell fans? Do we tell our parents? What about-"  
"Shhhh. That kind of talk is for the morning. Sleep now." He closed around Patrick like a vine and tugged him down, leaving no room for arguments.

  
  
***  
  
  
"Come home with me, for Christmas?"  
"Isn't that a bit early, like for us?"  
Pete shook his head. "It's different, because we've been friends for years. Like, you've already met my parents a ton of times."  
  
"We've only been dating a day."  
Pete rolled his eyes. "I was going to ask you to anyway, as a friend. I know you're probably going to your mom's the day of, but I always go to mine for like a week or so, and I wanted you to-"  
"If it's a week then at some point I'll probably- fuck. We need to talk about that."  
  
Pete shrugged. "What is there to talk about?" When Patrick started to protest, he continued, "Look, it's different, then, okay. Remember when we went to the park and I told that lady you were my boyfriend's kid brother? I was in l- liked- no,  I'll be fucked if I do anything by halves: I was in love with you then. I didn't know it yet, but the point is, it's totally different. There isn't even a whisper of, like... The closest way to explain it is, yeah, like your own kid brother. God damn, it's so hard to explain. I'm feeling like the pee analogy isn't going to be any help here."  
Patrick sniggered.  
  
"Like... You've seen my baby photos. Like the kid is me, but so far removed it's difficult to relate the two. And you see like videos of me doing stuff when I was four or whatever, and you laugh at me and associate it with me, but you don't feel the same towards the kid as you would to me, right? I'm hoping you don't look at my baby photos and feel anything... y'know. It's like if I had a kid brother who was like really similar to me. I just want you to be safe, and happy. And trust me, I have literally _no_ desire to make out with a five year old."  
  
Patrick nodded slowly. "Okay. I think I get it, I'm not saying in the first place that'd you'd even, uh. Just... If you didn't want- I'm sure Andy would-"  
"If you want to, like if you're not comfortable- that's okay. Just don't do anything on my account."  
"I like you best," Patrick replied, sounding suspiciously small.  
Pete looked up at him, shocked, but he was the same size and looked equally shocked, with a hand over his mouth.

  
"Was that...?"  
Patrick nodded, surprised. "I don't even know what happened! And I'm not..." He looked down, glaring at Pete, who was laughing his ass off.  
"Maybe it's like, y'know when bilingual people accidentally speak in the wrong language sometimes?"  
Patrick shrugged, recovered enough to laugh lightly at himself. "I don't know. It's true though."

  
"Does this mean you'll come home with me for Christmas? You can go to your mom's on Christmas Day. Little Patrick, if you hijack _mean_ Patrick and say yes I'll buy you so many presents, you don't even _know_ ," he joked.  
Patrick swatted at him. "I'll come with you, if you come with me to mom's on Christmas Day, and if you'll take me to hers if I end up having to be small at any point cause I'm not doing _that_ at your parents house."

  
***

  
  
Christmas passed in a blur. Patrick managed to time it to be just before and just after the week at Pete's parents' house. They told Patrick's mom, and she cried. They told Pete's mom and she said she'd known for a year and didn't believe them when, confused, they said they'd only been dating for a few weeks.  
  
Pete gave Patrick two presents, addressed to _Patrick the Younger_ and _Patrick the Elder_ which made Patrick's mom beam. "I brought them both with me in case, but we can have another Christmas when you're small and we can open it then."  
Nodding, Patrick kept one hand on the package for the rest of the time they opened presents. His other present from Pete was various rare records that Pete had spent hours in record stores way too cool for him in order to find, and Patrick kissed him the way you kiss when your mom is watching but you want more later. Patrick got Pete a first edition Hemingway and muttered, _"Nerd_ ," affectionately when Pete squealed.

 

***

 

  
  
When they got home from Pete's family Patrick was small again almost immediately and he looked relieved. When he knocked on Pete's door to tell him, he was already dressed and had a little messily wrapped package in his hand. "Here," he shoved it shyly at Pete. He said he'd picked it online with his mom when Pete was sick.

  
Pete beamed. "Tricky! That's so _sweet_! Okay, hang on and I'll get yours and we can open them together."  
Pete fetched the present that he'd given to Patrick at Christmas and Patrick had given back to him to look after, and they carried everything back to Patrick's room.  
  
Patrick watched nervously as Pete opened his present. It was a tiny teddy bear with a love heart on its shirt and when Pete pressed its arm it said, in Patrick's happy little chirp, "Love you, Petey!"  
Pete melted. "I _love_ it, Trickster! C'mere," he tugged Patrick into his lap and leaned his head over his shoulder so he could watch Patrick open his present - well, there were two, individually wrapped within the larger package. The first was a tiny, half size acoustic guitar with soft strings.

  
"I didn't know if you'd prefer drums like you used to, but a miniature drum kit is really expensive..."  
Patrick leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Petey! Will you help me play it though? I _can_ , but I'm not good."  
  
Ruffling his hair, Pete smiled. "Yeah, Pattycakes, 'cause little hands don't reach around big guitars. You'll be able to play properly now!"  
Patrick clapped his hands and reached for it delightedly.  
"Not now, there's still another present!"

  
Pete was more anxious about this one, inspired by the eyeliner incident; a huge palette of that children's makeup stuff that comes in bright colours and washes off easily.  
Patrick was quieter opening this one. He turned around to look at Pete, who panicked for a moment but Patrick's cheeks were pink and his eyes were lit up.  
  
"Will you put it on me? You said I should ask," he said, shyly offering it to Pete.  
Taking it, Pete nodded.  
  
Three hours later, Patrick was having a nap, curled up and looking like he should be on the cover of vogue junior or something, and Pete was watching him contentedly, looking like he'd fallen into several different vats at the paint factory.  
He lifted Patrick up and tenderly placed him into bed, tucked him in, and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm just going out to get a Starbucks, okay? If you need anything, Joe's in his room, or you can call me. I'll probably be back before you wake up, though, okay?"

  
Ninety percent asleep, Patrick nodded. "'Ove 'ou," he grunted.  
"Yeah, I love you too."  
Pete was halfway there when he realised why people were staring at him. He hadn't removed Patrick's... _lovely_ face paint. Grinning at an old lady who was glaring at him and muttering to another old lady, Pete carried on down the street.  
  
When he got back, Patrick called from the living room. He was lying on the sofa, sleepily watching  some music documentary. He turned around when Pete came in and, to Pete's delight, was bigger but still covered in makeup.

  
"You look hot like that," Pete teased, slipping into the couch beside Patrick although there wasn't really room.  
"I don't always?" Patrick retorted mockingly.  
"Good point." Pete stole a kiss from his boyfriend, still feeling electric every time he referred to Patrick as his boyfriend.  
"I think yours is even hotter," Patrick smirked at the mess on Pete's face.

  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
Pete delighted in every element of PDA that Patrick despised. He came into the kitchen when Patrick and Andy were cooking, wrapped an arm around Patrick's waist and kissed him softly when Patrick leaned back against him. "Love you," he muttered and slipped away before Patrick could slam his walls up and switch from soft and sweet to pissed as hell.  
  
When Patrick and Joe were figuring out a guitar part to another of his blatant love songs about Patrick, he came and sat next to them and leaned against Patrick's side. He knew Patrick hated it so every time he got something in return he felt ridiculously lucky. Patrick turned and kissed him where his hairline started and mumbled affectionately, "Go away, li've."  
  
The most public thing Pete ever got Patrick to do was release their song. They agreed not to say anything to the public, but Pete wrote innumerable love songs for him and delighted when he watched them fall from Patrick's lips in front of thousands. Their songs never got any more child friendly, but Pete knew Patrick liked to listen to them when he was small, so it was his idea to write a song just for tiny Patrick.  
  
He wrote it in one night, formed the verses and chorus all by himself without asking Patrick to structure his madness for him like usual. When he was done, he wrote some simple chords above it, humming a basic tune, and was ridiculously proud of the song he'd written all by himself, as a surprise for Patrick, when he realised that it still needed to be actually sung and that was the one thing that Pete, without doubt, couldn't do.  
  
"Patrick, love, can I-" Patrick's door opened. Pete held the paper out to him shyly.  
"I wanted to do it all by myself, but fuck if I can sing it. It's for you. Most of them are, but this one's for a different kind of you."  
  
Patrick took it, smiling as he read through and suddenly understood.  
"Pete-" His eyes were shining.  
  
They recorded it with an acoustic guitar, a laptop, and a Patrick. It was uploaded to both their iPods and quickly ceased being used for little Patrick only - Pete got Patrick to sing it to him when he couldn't sleep, and he'd seen big Patrick listening to it more than once, had smiled proudly every time.  
  
It took literally years of convincing, and Pete promising not to call Patrick _'silly bear'_ in public, but Pete eventually got Lullabye on the fourth album.


End file.
